WALKING 
D  ELEGATE 

BY  LEROY  >SCOTT 


REESE  LIBRARY 

OF  THF. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Ul 

Class 


THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 


THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 


The 
Walking  Delegate 


With  / 


The 
Walking  Delegate 


By 

Leroy  Scott 


With   Frontispiece 


New  York 

Doubleday,   Page  &  Company 
1905 


Copyright,  1905,  by 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

Published  May,  1905 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 
translation  into  foreign  languages, 
including  the  Scandinavian 


r    :;•< 


taJ 


Co  9@g  Mlife 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ON  THE  ST.  ETIENNE  HOTEL 3 

II.  THE  WALKING  DELEGATE        14 

III.  THE  RISE  OF  BUCK  FOLEY 30 

IV.  A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR 39 

V.  TOM  SEEKS  HELP  FROM  THE  ENEMY 5° 

VI.  IN  WHICH  FOLEY  PLAYS  WITH  Two  MICE 59 

VII.  GETTING  THE  MEN  IN  LINE 72 

VIII.  THE  COWARD 85 

IX.  RUTH  ARNOLD 9$ 

X.  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE  CAMPAIGN «" 

XL  IN   FOLEY'S  "OFFICE" I2° 

XII.  THE  ELECTION I29 

XIII.  THE  DAY  AFTER J45 

XIV.  NEW  COURAGE  AND  NEW  PLANS '53 

XV.  MR.  BAXTER  HAS  A  FEW  CONFERENCES 166 

XVI.  BLOWS I77 

XVII.  THE  ENTERTAINMENT  COMMITTEE ig7 

XVIII.  THE  STOLEN  STRIKE 2°3 

XIX.  FOLEY  TASTES  REVENGE 2I° 

XX.  TOM  HAS  A  CALLER 224 

XXI.  WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN 236 

XXII.  THE  PROGRESS  OF  THE  STRIKE 25° 

XXIII.  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  BUSINESS  SENSE    .    .    . 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.  BUSINESS  is  BUSINESS 267 

XXV.  IN  WHICH  FOLEY  Bows  TO  DEFEAT 279 

XXVI.  PETERSEN'S  SIN 290 

XXVII.  THE  THOUSANDTH  CHANCE 304 

XXVIII.  THE  EXPOSURE 313 

XXIX.  IN  WHICH  MR.  BAXTER  SHOWS  HIMSELF  A  MAN  OF 

RESOURCES 331 

XXX.  THE  LAST  OF  BUCK   FOLEY 338 

XXXI.  TOM'S  LEVEE 348 

XXXII.  THE  THORN  OF  THE  ROSE 364 


LIST  OF   CHARACTERS 

BUCK  FOLEY,  a  walking  delegate. 

TOM  KEATING,  a  foreman. 

MAGGIE  KEATING,  his  wife. 

MR.  BAXTER,  President  of  Iron  Employers'  Ass'n. 

MRS.  BAXTER. 

MR.  DRISCOLL,   a  contractor. 

RUTH  ARNOLD,  his  secretary. 

MR.  BERMAN,  junior  partner  of  Mr.  Driscoll. 

MR.  MURPHY,  a  contractor. 

MR.  BOBBS,  a  contractor. 

MR.  ISAACS,  a  contractor. 

CONNELLY,  Secretary  of  Iron  Workers'  Union. 

NELS  PETERSEN,  a  "scab." 

ANNA  PETERSEN,  his  wife. 

PIG  IRON  PETE,  a  workman 

JOHNSON,  a  workman. 

BARRY,  a  workman. 

MRS.  BARRY. 

JAKE  HENDERSON 


ARKANSAS  NUMBER   Two 

KAFFIR  BILL 

SMOKEY 

HICKEY 


Members  of 
>  "The  Entertainment 
Committee." 


THE  WALKING    DELEGATE 


or  THE 
UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 


Chapter  I 
ON  THE  ST.   ETIENNE   HOTEL 


St.  Etienne  Hotel  would  some  day  be 

as  bulk>r  and  as  garishly  magnificent  as 

four  million  dollars  could  make  it.  Now 
it  was  only  a  steel  framework  rearing 
itself  into  the  center  of  the  overhead  gray- 
ness—  a  black  pier  supporting  the  grimy  arch 

heaven.  , 

Up  on  its  loosely-planked  twenty-first  story  stood 
Mr    Driscoll,  watching  his  men  at  work.    A  raw 
February  wind  scraped  slowly  under  the  dirty  clouds, 
which  soiled  the  whole  sky,  and  with  a  leisurely  con 
tent  thrust  itself  into  his  office-tendered  flesh.     He 
shivered,  and  at  times,  to  throw  off  the  chill,  he 
paced  across  the  pine  boards,  carefully  going  around 
the  gaps  his  men  were  wont  to  leap.     And  now  and 
then  his  eyes  wandered  from  his  lofty  platform. 
his  right,  below,  there  were  roofs;  beyond,  a  dull 
bar  of  water;  beyond,  more  roofs:  on  his  left  there 
were  roofs;  a  dull  bar  of  water;  more  roofs:  and  all 
around  the  jagged  wilderness  of  house-tops  reached 
away  and  away  till  it  faded  into  the  complete  en 
velopment  of  a  smudgy  haze.     Once  Mr.  Driscoll 
caught  hold  of  the  head  of  a  column  and  leaned  out 
above  the  street;  over  its  dizzy  bottom  erratically 


4      THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

shifted  dark  specks — hats.  He  drew  back  with  a 
shiver  with  which  the  February  wind  had  nothing 
to  do. 

It  was  a  principle  with  Mr.  Driscoll,  of  Driscoll 
&  Co.,  contractors  for  steel  bridges  and  steel  frames 
of  buildings,  that  you  should  not  show  approval  of 
your  workmen's  work.  u  Give  'em  a  smile  and 
they'll  do  ten  per  cent,  less  and  ask  ten  per  cent, 
more."  So  as  he  now  watched  his  men,  one  hand 
in  his  overcoat  pocket,  one  on  his  soft  felt  hat,  he  did 
not  smile.  It  was  singularly  easy  for  him  not  to 
smile.  Balanced  on  his  short,  round  body  he  had 
a  round  head  with  a  rim  of  reddish-gray  hair,  and 
with  a  purplish  face  that  had  protruding  lips  which 
sagged  at  each  corner,  and  protruding  eyes  whose 
lids  blinked  so  sharply  you  seemed  to  hear  their 
click.  So  much  nature  had  done  to  help  him  adhere 
to  his  principle.  And  he,  in  turn,  had  added  to 
his  natural  endowment  by  growing  mutton-chops. 
Long  ago  someone  had  probably  expressed  to  him  a 
detestation  of  side-whiskers,  and  he  of  course  had 
begun  forthwith  to  shave  only  his  chin. 

His  men  were  setting  twenty-five  foot  steel  columns 
into  place, — the  gang  his  eyes  were  now  on,  moving 
actively  about  a  great  crane,  and  the  gang  about  the 
great  crane  at  the  building's  other  end.  Their  coats 
were  buttoned  to  their  chins  to  keep  out  the  February 
wind;  their  hands  were  in  big,  shiny  gloves;  their  blue 
and  brown  overalls,  from  the  handling  of  painted 
iron,  had  the  surface  and  polish  of  leather.  They 
were  all  in  the  freshness  of  their  manhood — lean,  and 
keen,  and  full  of  spirit — vividly  fit.  Their  work  ex- 


ST.    ETIENNEHOTEL  5 

plained  their  fitness;  it  was  a  natural  civil  service 
examination  that  barred  all  but  the  active  and  the 
daring. 

And  yet,  though  he  did  not  smile,  Mr.  Driscoll 
was  cuddled  by  satisfaction  as  he  stood  on  the  great 
platform  just  under  the  sky  and  watched  the  brown 
men  at  work.  He  had  had  a  deal  of  trouble  during 
the  past  three  years — accidents,  poor  workmen,  de 
lays  due  to  strikes  over  inconsequential  matters — all 
of  which  had  severely  taxed  his  profits  and  his  pro 
fanity.  So  the  smoothness  with  which  this,  his 
greatest  job,  progressed  was  his  especial  joy.  In 
his  heart  he  credited  this  smoothness  to  the  brown 
young  foreman  who  had  just  come  back  to  his  side 
— but  he  didn't  tell  Keating  so. 

"  The  riveters  are  keeping  right  on  our  heels," 
said  Tom.  "  Would  you  like  to  go  down  and  have 
a  look  at  'em?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Driscoll  shortly. 

The  foreman  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly,  and 
joined  the  gang  Mr.  Driscoll  was  watching.  In  the 
year  he  had  worked  for  Mr.  Driscoll  he  had  learned 
to  be  philosophic  over  that  gentleman's  gruffness: 
he  didn't  like  the  man,  so  why  should  he  mind  his 
words  ? 

The  men  had  fastened  a  sling  about  a  twenty- 
five  foot  column  and  to  this  had  attached  the  hook 
of  the  pulley.  The  seventy-foot  arm  of  the  crane 
now  slowly  rose  and  drew  after  it  the  column,  dan 
gling  vertically.  Directed  by  the  signals  of  Tom's 
right  hand  the  column  sank  with  precision  to  its  ap 
pointed  place  at  one  corner  of  the  building.  It  was 


6      THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

quickly  fastened  to  the  head  of  the  column  beneath 
it  with  four  bolts.  Later  the  riveters,  whose  ham 
mers  were  now  maintaining  a  terrific  rattle  two  floors 
below,  would  replace  the  four  bolts  by  four  rows  of 

rivets. 

"  Get  the  sling,  Pete,"  ordered  Tom. 
At  this  a  loosely-jointed  man  threw  off  his  slouch 
hat,  encircled  the  column  with  his  arms,  and  mounted 
with  little  springs.  Near  its  top  he  locked  his  legs 
around  the  column,  and,  thus  supported  and  working 
with  both  hands,  he  unfastened  the  rope  from  the 
pulley  hook  and  the  column,  and  threw  it  below.  He 
then  stepped  into  the  hook  of  the  pulley,  swung 
through  the  air  to  the  flooring,  picked  up  his  hat 
and  slapped  it  against  his  leg. 

Sometimes  Mr.  Driscoll  forgot  his  principle. 
While  Pete  was  nonchalantly  loosening  the  sling, 
leaning  out  over  the  street,  nothing  between  him  and 
the  pavement  but  the  grip  of  his  legs,  there  was  some 
thing  very  like  a  look  of  admiration  in  Mr.  Dns- 
coll's  aggravating  eyes.  He  moved  over  to  Pete 
just  as  the  latter  was  pulling  on  his  slouch  hat.  ^ 
"  I  get  a  shiver  every  time  I  see  a  man  do  that, 

he  said.  ..  ,, , 

"  That?     That's  nothin',"    said    Pete.        I  d    a 

heap  ruther  do  that  than  work  down  in  the  street. 

Down  in  the  street,  why,  who  knows  when  a  brick  s 

agoin'  to  fall  on  your  head!  " 

"  Urn!  "     Mr.  Driscoll  remembered  himselt  and 

his  eyes  clicked.     He  turned  from  Pete,  and  called 

to  the  young  foreman :  "  I'll  look  at  the  riveters  now. 
"All  right.    Oh,  Barry!" 


ST.   ETIENNE   HOTEL  7 

There  came  toward  Tom  a  little,  stocky  man,  com 
monly  known  as  "  Rivet  Head."  Someone  had 
noted  the  likeness  of  his  cranium  to  a  newly-ham 
mered  rivet,  and  the  nickname  had  stuck. 

"  Get  the  other  four  columns  up  out  of  the  street 
before  setting  any  more,"  Tom  ordered,  and  then 
walked  with  Mr.  Driscoll  to  where  the  head  of  a 
ladder  stuck  up  through  the  flooring. 

Pete,  with  a  sour  look,  watched  Mr.  Driscoll's 
round  body  awkwardly  disappear  down  the  ladder. 

"  Boys,  if  I  was  a  preacher,  I  know  how  I'd  run 
my  business,"  he  remarked. 

"  How,  Pete?  "  queried  one  of  the  gang. 

"  I'd  stand  up  Driscoll  in  the  middle  o'  the  road 
to  hell,  then  knock  off  workin'  forever.  When  they 
seen  him  standin'  there  every  blamed  sinner'd  turn 
back  with  a  yell  an'  stretch  their  legs  for  the  other 
road." 

"  I  wonder  if  Tom'll  speak  to  him  about  them 
scabs,"  said  another  man,  with  a  scowl  at  a  couple 
of  men  working  along  the  building's  edge. 

"  That  ain't  Tom's  business,  Bill,"  answered  Pete. 
"  It's  Rivet  Head's.  Tom  don't  like  Driscoll  any 
more'n  the  rest  of  us  do,  an'  he  ain't  goin'  to  say  any 
more  to  him  'n  he  has  to." 

"  Tom  ought  to  call  him  down,  anyhow,"  Bill 
declared. 

"  You  let  Foley  do  that,"  put  in  Jake  Hender 
son,  a  big  fellow  with  a  stubbly  face  and  a  scar  across 
his  nose. 

"An'  let  him  peel  off  a  little  graft!"  sneered 
Bill. 


8      THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  Close  yer  face !  "  growled  Jake.  ^ 

«  Come  on  there,  boys,  an'  get  that  crane  around  I 

shouted  Barry.  . 

Pete,  Bill,  and  Jake  sprang  to  the  wooden  lever 
that  extended  from  the  base  of  the  ninety-foot  mast; 
and  they  threw  their  weight  against  the  bar,  bending 
it  as  a  bow.     The  crane  slowly  turned  on  its  bear 
ings  to  the  desired  position.     Barry,  the      pusher 
(under    foreman),    waved    his    outstretched    hand. 
The  signalman,  whose  eyes  had  been  alert  for  this 
movement,  pulled  a  rope;  a  bell  rang  ,n  the  ears 
of  an  engineer,  twenty-one  floors  below.     The  big 
boom  slowly  came  down  to  a  horizonta   pos.tion,  its 
outer  end  twenty  feet  clear  of  the  buddings  edge. 
Another  signal,  and  the  heavy  iron  pulley  began  t 
descend  to  the  street. 

After  the  pulley  had  started  to  slide  down  its 
rope  there  was  little  for  the  men  to  do  till  it  had 
climbed  back  up  the  rope  with  its  burden  of  steel. 
Pete— who  was  usually  addressed  as  Pig  Iron, 
perhaps  for  the  reason  that  he  claimed  to  be  from 
Pittsbm-T— settled  back  at  his  ease  among  the  gang, 
his  back  against  a  pile  of  columns,  his  legs  stretched 

OUt.  ,  T1 

"I've  just  picked  out  the  apartment  where J  m 
goin'   to  keep  my  celluloid  collar  when   this  here 
Ihanty's  finished,"   he   remarked.     "  Over    m    the 
corner  there,  lookin'  down  in  both  streets      1  am 
2oin'  to  do  nothin'  but  wear  kid  gloves,  an   lean  out 
the  windows  an'  spit  on  you  roughnecks  as  you  go 
bv      An'  my  boodwar  is  goin'  to  have  about  seven 
teen   push-buttons   in    it.     Whenever   I   want  any- 


ST.    ETIENNE    HOTEL  9 

thing  I'll  just  push  a  button,  an'  up  '11  hot-foot  a 
nigger  with  it  in  a  suit  o'  clothes  that's  nothin'  but 
shirt  front.  Then  I'll  kick  the  nigger,  an'  push 
another  button.  That's  life,  boys.  An'  I'll  have 
plush  chairs,  carpets  a  foot  thick,  an  iv'ry  bath 
tub " 

Pete's  wandering  gaze  caught  one  man  watching 
him  with  serious  eyes,  and  he  broke  off.  "  Say,  John 
son,  wha'  d'  you  suppose  I  want  a  bath-tub  for?  " 

Johnson  was  an  anomaly  among  the  iron-workers — 
a  man  without  a  sense  of  humor.  He  never  knew 
when  his  fellows  were  joking  and  when  serious;  he 
usually  took  them  literally. 

"  To  wash  in,"  he  answered. 

Pete  whistled.  "  Wash  in  it!  Ain't  you  got  no 
respect  for  the  traditions  o'  the  workin'  class?  " 

"  Hey,  Pig  Iron;  talk  English!  "  Bill  demanded. 
"What's  traditions?" 

Pete  looked  puzzled,  and  a  laugh  passed  about  the 
men.  Then  his  sang-froid  returned.  "  Your  tradi 
tions,  Bill,  is  the  things  you'd  try  to  forget  about 
yourself  if  you  had  enough  coin  to  move  into  a  place 
like  this."  ' 

He  turned  his  lean  face  back  on  Johnson.  "  Don't 
you  know  what  a  bath-tub's  for,  Johnson?  Don't 
you  never  read  the  papers?  Well,  here's  how  it  is: 
The  landlords  come  around  wearin'  about  a  sixteen- 
candle-power  incandescent  smile.  They  puts  in  marble 
bath-tubs  all  through  all  the  houses.  They're  goin' 
to  elevate  us.  The  next  day  they  come  around  again 
to  see  how  we've  improved.  They  throw  up  their 
hands,  an'  let  out  a  few  yells.  There's  them  bath- 


io    THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

tubs  chuck  full  o'  coal.  We  didn't  know  what  they 
was  for, — an'  they  was  very  handy  for  coal.  That's 
us.  It's  down  in  the  papers.  An'  here  you,  Johnson, 
you'd  ruin  our  repitations  by  usin'  the  bath-tubs  to 
bathe  in." 

The  pulley  toiled  into  view,  dragging  after  it  two 
columns.  Johnson  was  saved  the  necessity  of  re 
sponse.  The  men  hurried  to  their  places. 

"  O'  course,  Pig  Iron,  you'll  be  fixed  all  right  when 
you've  moved  in  here,"  began  Bill,  after  the  boom 
had  reached  out  and  the  pulley  had  started  spinning 
down  for  the  other  two  columns.  "  But  how  about 
the  rest  of  us  fixers  ?  Three  seventy-five  a  day,  when 
we  get  in  only  six  or  seven  months  a  year,  ain't  makin' 
bankers  out  o'  many  of  us." 

"  Only  a  few,"  admitted  Pete;  "  an'  them  few  ain't 
the  whole  cheese  yet.  Me,  I  can  live  on  three  seven 
ty-five,  but  I  don't  see  how  you  married  men  do." 

"  Especially  with  scabs  stealin'  your  jobs,"  growled 
Bill,  glancing  again  at  the  two  men  working  along  the 
building's  edge. 

"  I  told  you  Foley'd  look  after  them,"  said  Barry, 
who  had  joined  the  group  for  a  moment.  "  It  hus 
tles  most  of  us  to  keep  up  with  the  gamer"  he  went 
on,  in  answer  to  Pete's  last  remark.  "  Some  of  us 
don't.  An'  rents  an'  everything  else  goin'  up.  I 
don't  know  what  we're  goin'  to  do." 

"  That's  easy,"  said  Pete.  "  Get  more  money  or 
live  cheaper." 

"  How're  we  goin'  to  live  cheaper?"  demanded 
Bill. 

"  Yes,  how?  "  seconded  Barry. 


3705 


ST.    ETIENNE    HOTEL          u 

"  I'm  for  more  money,"  declared  Bill. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  I  wear  the  same  size  shoe,"  said 
Pete.  "  More  money — that's  me." 

"  And  me,"  "  and  me,"  joined  in  the  other  men, 
except  Johnson. 

"  It's  about  time  we  were  gettin'  more,"  Pete 
advanced.  "  The  last  two  years  the  bosses  have 
been  doin'  the  genteel  thing  by  their  own  pockets, 
all  right." 

"  We've  got  to  have  more  if  our  kids  are  goin' 
to  know  a  couple  o'  facts  more'n  we  do."  Barry  went 
over  to  the  edge  of  the  building  and  watched  the 
tiny  figures  attaching  the  columns  to  the  pulley  hook. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Pete.  "  You  don't  stand  no 
chance  these  days  to  climb  up  on  top  of  a  good  job 
unless  you  ripped  off  a  lot  o'  education  when  you  was 
young  an'  riveted  it  on  to  your  mem'ry.  I  heard  a 
preacher  once.  He  preached  about  education.  He 
said  if  you  wanted  to  get  up  anywhere  you  had  to  be 
educated  like  hell.  He  was  right,  too.  If  you  left 
school  when  you  was  thirteen,  why,  by  the  time  you're 
twenty-seven  an'  had  a  few  drinks  you  ain't  very 
likely  to  be  just  what  I'd  call  a  college  on  legs." 

"  Keating,  he  thinks  we  ought  to  go  after  more 
this  spring,"  said  Bill. 

"  I  wonder  what  Foley  thinks?  "  queried  another 
of  the  men. 

"  If  Tomls  for  a  strike,  why,  Foley  '11  be  again' 
it,"  one  of  the  gang  answered.  *  You  can  place  your 
money  on  that  coloj." 

"  Tom  certainly  did  pour  the  hot  shot  into  Foley 
at  the  meetin'  last  night,"  said  Bill,  grinning. 


12    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  Grafter!  He  called  Buck  about  thirteen  different 
kind." 

"  If  Keating's  all  right  in  his  nut  he'll  not  go  round 
lookin'  for  a  head-on  collision  with  Buck  Foley," 
asserted  Jake,  with  a  wise  leer  at  Bill. 

Bill  answered  by  giving  Jake  his  back.  "  Foley 
don't  want  no  strike,"  he  declared.  "  What's  he 
want  to  strike  for?  He's  gettin'  his  hand  in  the 
dough  bag  enough  the  way  things  is  now." 

"  See  here,  the  whole  bunch  o'  you  roughnecks  give 
me  a  pain !  "  broke  out  Pete.  "  You  shoot  off  your 
faces  a  lot  when  Buck's  not  around,  but  the  imitation 
you  give  on  meetin'  nights  of  a  collection  o'  mummies 
can't  be  beat.  I  ain't  in  love  with  Buck — not  on  your 
life!  You  can  tell  him  so,  Jake.  But  he  certainly 
has  done  the  union  a  lot  o'  good.  Tom'd  say  that, 
too.  An'  you  know  how  much  Tom  likes  Foley. 
You  fixers  forget  when  you  was  workin'  ten  hours 
for  two  dollars,  an'  lickin'  the  boots  o'  the  bosses  to 
hold  your  jobs." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  then  Johnson  put  for 
ward  cautiously:  "  I  don't  see  the  good  o'  strikin'." 

Pete  stared  at  him.     "  Why?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Well,  I've  been  in  the  business  longer'n  most  o' 
you  boys,  an'  I  ain't  found  the  bosses  as  bad  as  you 
make  'em  out.  When  they're  makin'  more,  they'll 
pay  us  more." 

"  Oh,  you  go  tell  that  to  a  Sunday  school !  "  snorted 
Pete.  "  D'you  ever  hear  of  a  boss  payin'  more 
wages  'n  he  had  to?  Not  much!  Them  kind  'o 
bosses  's  all  doin'  business  up  in  heaven.  If  we  was 
actually  earnin'  twenty  a  day,  d'you  suppose  we'd  get 


ST.    ETIENNE    HOTEL  13 

a  cent  more'n  three  seventy-five  till  we'd  licked  the 
bosses.  You  do — hey?  That  shows  the  kind  of  a 
nut  you've  got.  The  boss  'ud  buy  a  tutti-frutti  yacht, 
or  a  few  more  automobiles,  or  mebbe  a  college  or  two, 
where  they  learn  you  how  to  wear  your  pants  turned 
up;  but  all  the  extra  money  you'd  get  wouldn't  pay 
for  the  soap  used  by  a  Dago.  If  ever  a  boss  offers 
you  an  extra  dollar  before  you've  licked  him,  yell 
for  a  cop.  He's  crazy." 

Pete's  tirade  completely  flustered  Johnson.  "  All 
the  same,  what  I  said  's  so." 

Pete  snorted  again.  "  When  d'you  think  you're 
livin'?  You  make  me  tired,  Johnson.  Go  push 
yourself  off  the  roof!  " 

The  two  last  columns  rose  swinging  above  the 
chasm's  brink,  and  there  was  no  more  talk  for  that 
afternoon.  For  the  next  hour  the  men  were  busy 
setting  the  last  of  the  columns  which  were  to  support 
the  twenty-second  and  twenty-third  stories.  Then 
they  began  setting  in  the  cross  beams,  walking  about 
on  these  five-inch  beams  (perhaps  on  one  with  the 
pavement  straight  beneath  it)  with  the  matter-of-fact 
steps  of  a  man  on  the  sidewalk — a  circus  act,  lacking 
a  safety  net  below,  and  lacking  flourishes  and  kisses 
blown  to  a  thrilled  audience. 


Chapter   II 
THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

IT  was  toward  the  latter  part  of  the  after 
noon  that  a  tall,  angular  man,  in  a  black 
overcoat  and  a  derby  hat,  stepped  from 
the    ladder    on    to    the    loose    planking, 
glanced  about  and  walked  over  to  the  gang  of  men 
about  the  south  crane. 

"  Hello,  Buck,"  they  called  out  on  sight  of  him, 

"  Hello,  boys,"  he  answered  carelessly. 

He  stood,  with  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  overcoat, 
smoking  his  cigar,  watching  the  crane  accurately 
swing  a  beam  to  its  place,  and  a  couple  of  men  run 
along  it  and  bolt  it  at  each  end  to  the  columns.  He 
had  a  face  to  hold  one's  look — lean  and  long:  gray, 
quick  eyes,  set  close  together;  high  cheek  bones,  with 
the  dull  polish  of  bronze;  a  thin  nose,  with  a  vultur 
ous  droop;  a  wide  tight  mouth;  a  great  bone  of  a 
chin; — a  daring,  incisive,  masterful  face. 

When  the  beam  had  been  bolted  to  its  place, 
Barry,  with  a  reluctance  he  tried  to  conceal,  walked 
over  to  Foley. 

"  How's  things?  "  asked  the  new-comer,  rolling  his 
cigar  into  the  corner  of  his  mouth  and  slipping  his 
words  out  between  barely  parted  lips. 

Barry  was  the  steward  on  the  job, — the  union's 
representative.  "  Two  snakes  come  on  the  job  this 

14 


THE   WALKING    DELEGATE     15 

mornin',"  he  reported.       *  Them  two  over  there,— 
that  Squarehead  an'  that  Guinea.     I  was  goin'  to 
write  you  a  postal  card  about  'em  to-night." 

44  Who  put 'em  to  work?" 

"  They  said  Duffy,  Driscoll's  superintendent." 

Foley  grunted,  and  his  eyes  fastened  thoughtfully 
on  the  two  non-union  men. 

"  When  the  boys  seen  they  had  no  cards,  o'  course 
they  said  they  wouldn't  work  with  the  scabs.  But  I 
said  we'd  stand  'em  to-day,  an'  let  you  straighten  it 


out  to-morrow." 


1  We'll  fix  it  now."  The  walking  delegate,  with 
deliberate  steps,  moved  toward  the  two  men,  who 
were  sitting  astride  an  outside  beam  fitting  in  bolts. 

He  paused  beside  the  Italian.  "  Clear  out !  "  he 
ordered  quietly.  He  did  not  take  his  hands  from  his 
pockets. 

The  Italian  looked  up,  and  without  answer  dog 
gedly  resumed  twisting  a  nut 

Foley's  eyes  narrowed.  His  lips  tightened  upon 
his  cigar.  Suddenly  his  left  hand  gripped  the  head 
of  a  column  and  his  right  seized  the  shirt  and  coat 
collar  of  the  Italian.  He  jerked  the  man  outward, 
unseating  him,  though  his  legs  clung  about  the  beam, 
and  held  him  over  the  street.  The  Italian  let  out  a 
frightful  yell,  that  the  wind  swept  along  under  the 
clouds;  and  his  wrench  went  flying  from  his  hand. 
It  struck  close  beside  a  mason  on  a  scaffold  seventeen 
stories  below.  The  mason  gave  a  jump,  looked  up 
and  shook  his  fist. 

"  D'youse  see  the  asphalt?"  Foley  demanded. 

The  man,  whose  down-hanging  face  was  forced  to 


16    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

see  the  pavement  far  below,  with  the  little  hats  mov 
ing  about  over  it,  shrilled  out  his  fear  again. 

"  In  about  a  minute  youse'll  be  layin'  there,  as  flat 
as  a  picture,  if  youse  don't  clear  out!  " 

The  man  answered  with  a  mixture  of  Italian,  Eng 
lish,  and  yells;  from  which  Foley  gathered  that  he 
was  willing  to  go,  but  preferred  to  gain  the  street  by 
way  of  the  ladders  rather  than  by  the  direct  route. 

Foley  jerked  him  back  to  his  seat,  and  a  pair  of 
frantic  arms  gripped  his  legs.  "  Now  chase  your 
self,  youse  scab !  Or "  Foley  knew  how  to 

swear. 

The  Italian  rose  tremblingly  and  stepped  across  to 
the  flooring.  He  dropped  limply  to  a  seat  on  a 
prostrate  column,  and  moaned  into  his  hands. 

Without  glancing  at  him  or  at  the  workmen  who 
had  eyed  this  measure  doubtfully,  Foley  moved  over 
to  the  Swede  and  gripped  him  as  he  had  the  Italian. 
"  Now  youse,  youse  sneakin'  Squarehead!  Get  out 
o'  here,  too!  " 

The  Swede's  right  hand  came  up  and  laid  hold  of 
Foley's  wrist  with  a  grip  that  made  the  walking  dele 
gate  start.  The  scab  rose  to  his  feet  and  stepped 
across  to  the  planking.  Foley  was  tall,  but  the  Swede 
out-topped  him  by  an  inch. 

"  I  hold  ma  yob,  yes,"  growled  the  Swede,  a  sud 
den  flame  coming  into  his  heavy  eyes. 

Foley  had  seen  that  look  in  a  thousand  scabs'  eyes 
before.  He  knew  its  meaning.  He  drew  back  a 
pace,  pulled  his  derby  hat  tightly  down  on  his  head 
and  bit  into  his  cigar,  every  lean  muscle  alert. 

"  Get  off  the  job!     Or  I'll  kick  youse  off !  " 


THE   WALKING    DELEGATE     17 

The  Swede  stepped  forward,  his  shoulders  hunched 
up.  Foley  crouched  back;  his  narrowed  gray  eyes 
gleamed.  The  men  in  both  gangs  looked  on  from 
their  places  about  the  cranes  and  up  on  the  beams 
in  statued  expectation.  Barry  and  Pig  Iron  hurried 
up  to  Foley's  support. 

"  Keep  back!"  he  ordered  sharply.  They  fell 
away  from  him. 

A  minute  passed — the  two  men  standing  on  the 
loosely-planked  edge  of  a  sheer  precipice,  watching 
each  other  with  tense  eyes.  Suddenly  a  change  began 
in  the  Swede;  the  spirit  went  out  of  him  as  the  glow 
from  a  cooling  rivet.  His  arms  sank  to  his  side,  and 
he  turned  and  fairly  slunk  over  to  where  lay  an  old 
brown  overcoat. 

The  men  started  with  relief,  then  burst  into  a  jeer 
ing  laugh.  Foley  moved  toward  Barry,  then  paused 
and,  with  hands  back  in  his  pockets,  watched  the  two 
scabs  make  their  preparation  to  leave,  trundling  his 
cigar  about  with  his  thin  prehensile  lips.  As  they 
started  down  the  ladder,  the  Swede  sullen,  the  Italian 
still  trembling,  he  walked  over  to  them  with  sudden 
decision. 

"  Go  on  back  to  work,"  he  ordered. 

The  two  looked  at  him  in  surprised  doubt. 

"  Go  on !  "  He  jerked  his  head  toward  the  places 
they  had  left. 

They  hesitated;  then  the  Swede  lay  off  his  old  coat 
and  started  back  to  his  place,  and  the  Italian  followed, 
his  fearful  eyes  on  the  walking  delegate. 

Foley  rejoined  Barry.  "  I'm  goin'  to  settle  this 
thing  with  Driscoll,"  he  said  to  the  pusher,  loudly, 


i8    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

answering  the  amazed  questioning  he  saw  in  the  eyes 
of  all  the  men.  "  I'm  goin'  to  settle  the  scab  ques 
tion  for  good  with  him.  Let  them  two  snakes  work 
till  youse  hear  from  me." 

He  paused,  then  asked  abruptly:  "  Where's  Keat 
ing?" 

"  Down  with  the  riveters." 

"  So-long,  boys,"  he  called  to  Barry's  gang;  and  at 
the  head  of  the  ladder  he  gestured  a  farewell  to  the 
gang  about  the  other  crane.  Then  his  long  body 
sank  through  the  flooring. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  thirty-foot  ladder  he  paused 
and  looked  around  through  the  maze  of  beams  and 
columns.  This  floor  was  not  boarded,  as  was  the 
one  he  had  just  left.  Here  and  there  were  little 
platforms  on  which  stood  small  portable  forges,  a 
man  at  each  turning  the  fan  and  stirring  the  rivets 
among  the  red  coals;  and  here  and  there  were  groups 
of  three  men,  driving  home  the  rivets.  At  regular 
intervals  each  heater  would  take  a  white  rivet  from 
his  forge,  toss  it  from  his  tongs  sizzling  through  the 
air  to  a  man  twenty  feet  away,  who  would  deftly 
catch  it  in  a  tin  can.  This  man  would  seize  the 
glowing  bit  of  steel  with  a  pair  of  pincers,  strike 
it  smartly  against  a  beam,  at  which  off  would  go  a 
spray  of  sparks  like  an  exploding  rocket,  and  then 
thrust  it  through  its  hole.  Immediately  the  terrific 
throbbing  of  a  pneumatic  hammer,  held  hard  against 
the  rivet  by  another  man,  would  clinch  it  to  its 
destiny  of  clinging  with  all  its  might.  And  then, 
flashing  through  the  gray  air  like  a  meteor  at  twi 
light,  would  come  another  sparkling  rivet. 


THE   WALKING    DELEGATE     19 

And  on  all  sides,  beyond  the  workmen  calmly  play 
ing  at  catch  with  white-hot  steel,  and  beyond  the 
black  crosswork  of  beams  and  columns,  Foley  could 
see  great  stretches  of  housetops  that  in  sullen  rivalry 
strove  to  overmatch  the  dinginess  of  the  sky, 

Foley  caught  sight  of  Tom  with  a  riveting  gang  at 
the  southeast  corner  of  the  building,  and  he  started 
toward  him,  walking  over  the  five-inch  beams  with  a 
practiced  step,  and  now  and  then  throwing  a  word  at 
some  of  the  men  he  passed,  and  glancing  casually 
down  at  the  workmen  putting  in  the  concrete  flooring 
three  stories  below.  Tom  had  seen  him  coming,  and 
had  turned  his  back  upon  his  approach. 

"  H'are  you,  Buck!  "  shouted  one  of  the  gang. 

Though  Foley  was  but  ten  feet  away,  it  was  the 
man's  lips  alone  that  gave  greeting  to  him;  the 
ravenous  din  of  the  pneumatic  hammer  devoured 
every  other  sound.  He  shouted  a  reply ;  his  lip  move 
ments  signaled  to  the  man :  "  Hello,  fellows." 

Tom  still  kept  his  ignoring  back  upon  Foley. 
The  walking  delegate  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"  Fd  like  to  trade  some  words  with  youse,"  he  re 
marked. 

Tom's  set  face  regarded  him  steadily  an  instant; 
then  he  said:  "  All  right." 

"  Come  on."  Foley  led  the  way  across  beams  to 
the  opposite  corner  of  the  building  where  there  was  a 
platform  now  deserted  by  its  forge,  and  where  the 
noise  was  slightly  less  dense.  For  a  space  the  two 
men  looked  squarely  into  each  other's  face — Tom's 
set,  Foley's  expressionless — as  if  taking  the  measure 
of  the  other; — and  meanwhile  the  great  framework 


20    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

shivered,  and  the  air  rattled,  under  the  impact  of  the 
throbbing  hammers.  They  were  strikingly  similar, 
and  strikingly  dissimilar.  Aggressiveness,  fearless 
ness,  self-confidence,  a  sense  of  leadership,  showed 
themselves  in  the  faces  and  bearing  of  the  two,  though 
all  three  qualities  were  more  pronounced  in  the  older 
man.  Their  dissimilarity  was  summed  up  in  their 
eyes :  there  was  something  to  take  and  hold  your  con 
fidence  in  Tom's ;  Foley's  were  full  of  deep,  resource 
ful  cunning. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Tom,  at  length. 

"What's  your  game?"  asked  Foley  in  a  tone 
that  was  neither  friendly  nor  unfriendly.  "  Wha'd' 
youse  want?  " 

"  Nothing, — from  you." 

Foley  went  on  in  the  same  colorless  tone.  "  1  don't 
know.  Youse  've  been  doin'  a  lot  o'  growlin'  lately. 
I've  had  a  lot  o'  men  fightin'  me.  Most  of  'em 
wanted  to  be  bought  off." 

Tom  recognized  in  these  words  a  distant  overture 
of  peace, — a  peace  that  if  accepted  would  be  profit 
able  to  him.  He  went  straight  to  Foley's  insinuated 
meaning. 

"  You  ought  to  know  that's  not  my  size,"  he 
returned  quietly.  "  You've  tried  to  buy  me  off 
more  than  once." 

The  mask  went  from  Foley's  face  and  his  mouth 
and  forehead  creased  into  harsh  lines.  His  words 
came  out  like  whetted  steel.  "  See  here.  I  would 
pass  over  the  kind  o'  talkin'  youse  've  been  doin'. 
Somebody's  always  growlin'.  Somebody's  got  to 
growl  But  what  youse  said  at  the  meetin'  last  night, 


THE   WALKIN^ggggg^TE    21 

I  ain't  goin'  to  stand  for  that  kind  o'  talk.  Youse 
understand?  " 

Tom's  legs  had  spread  themselves  apart,  his  black- 
gloved  hands  had  placed  themselves  upon  his  hips, 
and  his  brown  eyes  were  looking  hard  defiance  from 
beneath  his  cap's  peak.  u  I  don't  suppose  you  did 
like  it,"  he  said  calmly.  "  If  I  remember  rightly  I 
didn't  say  it  for  the  purpose  of  pleasing  you." 

"  Youse  're  goin'  to  keep  your  mouth  goin'  then?  " 

"  My  mouth's  my  own." 

"  Mebbe  youse  knows  what  happened  to  a  few 
other  gents  that  started  on  the  road  youse  're  trav- 
elin'?  "  the  steely  voice  went  on  insinuatingly.  "  Dun 
can— Smith— O'Malley?  " 

"  Threats,  huh  ?  "  Tom's  anger  began  to  pass  his 
control.  He  sneered.  "  Save  'em  for  somebody 
that's  afraid  of  you!  " 

The  cigar  that  had  so  far  kept  its  place  in  Foley's 
mouth  now  fell  out,  and  a  few  lurid  words  followed 
it.  "  D'youse  know  I  can  drive  youse  clean  out  o' 
New  York?  Yes,  an'  fix  youse  so  youse  can't  get  a 
job  in  the  iron  trade  in  the  country?  Except  as  a 
scab.  Which's  just  about  what  you  are!  " 

The  defiant  glow  in  Tom's  eyes  flared  into  a  blaze 
of  anger.  He  stepped  up  to  Foley,  his  fists  still  on 
his  hips,  and  fairly  thrust  his  square  face  into  the 
lean  one  of  the  walking  delegate. 

"If  you  think  I'm  afraid  of  you,  Buck  Foley,  or 
your  bunch  of  toughs,  you're  almighty  mistaken! 
I'm  going  to  say  what  I  think  about  you,  and  say  it 
whenever  and  wherever  I  please !  " 

Foley's  face  tightened.     His  hands  clenched  in  his 


22    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

pockets.  But  he  controlled  himself.  He  had  the 
wisdom  of  a  thousand  fights, — which  is,  never  to  fight 
unless  you  have  to,  or  unless  there  is  something  to 
gain.  u  I've  got  just  one  thing  to  say  to  youse,  an' 
that's  all,"  he  said,  and  his  low,  steely  voice  cut  dis 
tinctly  through  the  hammer's  uproar.  "  If  I  hear 
any  more  about  your  talk, — well,  Duncan  an'  O'Mal- 
ley  '11  have  some  new  company." 

He  turned  about  shortly,  and  stepped  along  beams 
to  a  ladder,  and  down  that;  leaving  Tom  struggling 
with  a  furious  desire  to  follow  and  close  with  him. 
Out  of  the  building,  he  made  for  the  office  of  Mr. 
Driscoll  as  rapidly  as  street  car  could  take  him.  On 
leaving  the  elevator  in  the  Broadway  building  he 
strode  to  a  door  marked  "  Driscoll  &  Co. — Private — 
Enter  Next  Door,"  and  without  hesitation  turned  the 
knob.  He  found  himself  in  a  small  room,  very  neat, 
whose  principal  furniture  was  a  letter  file  and  a  desk 
bearing  a  typewriter.  Over  the  desk  was  a  brown 
print  of  William  Morris.  The  room  had  two  inner 
doors,  one,  as  Foley  knew,  opening  into  the  general 
offices,  and  the  other  into  Mr.  Driscoll's  private 
room. 

A  young  woman  rose  from  the  desk.  "  What  is 
it?  "  she  asked,  with  a  coldness  drawn  forth  by  his 
disregard  of  the  sign  on  the  door. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Driscoll.  Tell  him  Foley 
wants  to  speak  to  him." 

She  went  through  Mr.  Driscoll's  door,  and  Foley 
heard  his  name  announced.  There  was  a  hesitant 
silence,  then  he  heard  the  words,  "  Well,  let  him 
come  in,  Miss  Arnold." 


THE   WALKING   DELEGATE    23 

Miss  Arnold  immediately  reappeared.  "  Will 
you  step  in,  please." 

As  he  entered  the  door  Foley  put  on  his  hat,  which 
he  had  removed  in  the  presence  of  the  secretary,  pull 
ing  it  aggressively  down  over  one  eye. 

"  Hello,  Driscoll,"  he  greeted  the  contractor,  who 
had  swung  about  from  a  belittered  desk;  and  he 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Mr.  Driscoll  pointed  to  a  chair,  but  his  face  deep 
ened  a  shade.  Foley  seated  himself,  and  leaned  for 
ward  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  bony  hands 
clasped. 

"Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you?"  queried  Mr. 
Driscoll  shortly. 

Foley  knew  his  man.  He  had  met  Mr.  Driscoll 
many  times  at  conferences  with  the  Executive  Com 
mittee  of  the  Iron  Employers'  Association,  and 
had  read  him  as  though  he  were  large  print.  He 
noted  with  satisfaction  the  color  in  the  contractor's 
face. 

The  walking  delegate  spoke  with  extreme  delibera 
tion.  "  I  come  around,  Mister  Driscoll,  to  find  out 
what  the  hell  youse  mean  by  workin'  scabs  on  that 
St.  Etienne  job.  Youse  signed  an  agreement  to  work 
only  union  men,  but  if  I  didn't  watch  youse,  youse  'd 
have  your  work  alive  with  scabs.  Now,  damn  youse, 
unless  youse  get  them  scabs  off  that  job  an'  do  it 
quicker  'n  youse  ever  done  anything  before,  youse  '11 
wish  youse  had  1  " 

Foley  made  no  mistake  in  his  pre-calculation  of  the 
effect  of  this  speech.  Mr.  Driscoll  sprang  to  h"is  feet, 
with  a  trembling  that  his  reddish-gray  whiskers  exag- 


24    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

gerated.  His  glasses  tumbled  from  his  nose,  and  his 
feet  scrunched  them  unnoted  into  the  rug.  "  If 
there's  a  scab  on  the  job,  I  didn't  know  it.  If  those 
men  're  scabs  Duffy  must  have  made  a  mistake. 
If " 

"  If  one  o'  youse  bosses  ever  breaks  a  contract,  oh, 
it's  always  a  mistake !  " 

"  If  you'd  come  around  here  and  talked  like  a 
gentleman,  I'd  had  'em  off  inside  of  an  hour,"  Mr. 
Driscoll  roared.  "  But,  by  thunder,  I  don't  let  any 
walking  delegate  insult  me  and  tell  me  what  I've  got 
to  do!" 

"  Then  youse  ain't  goin'  to  fire  the  scabs?" 

"Not  till  hell  freezes  over!" 

Mr.  Driscoll's  eyes  clicked,  and  he  banged  his 
pudgy  fist  upon  his  desk. 

"  Then  the  men  '11  go  back  to  work  on  the  day  hell 
freezes  over,"  returned  Foley,  rising  to  go.  "  But  I 
have  an  idea  youse  '11  want  to  see  me  a  day  or  two 
before  then.  I've  come  to  youse  this  time.  The 
next  time  we  talk,  youse  '11  come  to  me.  There's 
my  card."  And  he  went  out  with  the  triumphant 
feeling  of  the  man  who  can  guide  events. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  he  clambered  again 
to  the  top  of  the  St.  Etienne  Hotel.  The  Italian  and 
Swede  were  still  at  work. 

"  Lay  down  your  tools,  boys!  "  he  called  out  tc 
the  two  gangs.  "  The  job's  struck!  " 

The  men  crowded  around  him,  demanding  infor 
mation. 

"  Driscoll  won't  fire  the  scabs,"  he  explained. 

"  Kick  'em  off, — settle  it  that-a-way !  "  growled  one 


THE   WALKING   DELEGATE    25 

of  the  men.  "  We  can't  afford  to  lose  wages  on 
account  o'  two  scabs." 

"  That'd  only  settle  this  one  case.  WeVe  got  to 
settle  the  scab  question  with  Driscoll  for  good  an' 
all.  It's  hard  luck,  boys,  I  know,"  he  said  sym 
pathetically,  "  but  we  can't  do  nothin'  but  strike. 
We've  got  to  lick  Driscoll  into  shape." 

Leaving  the  men  talking  hotly  as  they  changed 
their  clothes  for  the  street,  Foley  went  down  the 
ladder  to  bear  the  same  message  and  the  same  com 
fort  to  the  riveters. 

The  next  morning  the  general  contractor  for  the 
building  got  Mr.  Driscoll  on  the  telephone.  "  Why 
aren't  you  getting  that  ironwork  up?  "  he  demanded. 

Mr.  Driscoll  started  into  an  explanation  of  his 
trouble  with  Foley,  but  the  general  contractor  cut 
him  short.  "  I  don't  care  what  the  trouble  is.  What 
I  care  about  is  that  you're  not  getting  that  ironwork 
up.  Get  your  men  right  back  to  work." 

"How?"  queried  Mr.  Driscoll  sarcastically. 

"  That's  your  business !  "  answered  the  general  con 
tractor,  and  rang  off. 

Mr.  Driscoll  talked  it  over  with  the  "  Co.,"  a 
young  fellow  of  thirty  or  thereabouts,  of  polished 
manner  and  irreproachable  tailoring.  "  See  Foley," 
Mr.  Berman  advised. 

"  It's  simply  a  game  for  graft!  " 

"  That  may  be,"  said  the  junior  partner.  "  But 
what  can  you  do?  " 

"  I  won't  pay  graft!  " 

Mr.  Berman  shrugged  his  shapely  shoulders  and 
withdrew.  Mr.  Driscoll  paced  his  office  floor,  tugged 


26     THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

at  his  whiskers,  and  used  some  language  that  at 
least  had  the  virture  of  being  terse.  With  the  con 
sequence,  that  he  saw  there  was  nothing  for  him  but 
to  settle  as  best  as  he  could.  In  furious  mortification 
he  wrote  to  Foley  asking  him  to  call.  The  answer 
was  a  single  scrawled  sentence :  "  If  you  want  to  see 
me,  I  live  at  —  West  One  Hundred  and  Fifteenth 
Street." 

The  instant  after  this  note  was  read  its  fragments 
were  in  Mr.  Driscoll's  waste  basket.  He'd  suffer  a 
sulphurous  fate  before  he'd  do  it!  But  the  general 
contractor  descended  upon  him  in  person,  and  there 
was  a  bitter  half  hour.  The  result  was  that  late  Sat 
urday  afternoon  Mr.  Driscoll  locked  his  pride  in  his 
desk,  put  his  checkbook  in  his  pocket,  and  set  forth 
for  the  number  on  West  One  Hundred  and  Fifteenth 
Street. 

A  large  woman,  of  dark  voluptuous  beauty,  with  a 
left  hand  like  a  jeweller's  tray,  answered  his  knock 
and  led  him  into  the  parlor,  on  whose  furnishings 
more  money  than  taste  had  been  spent.  The  room 
was  a  war  of  colors,  in  which  the  gilt  of  the  picture 
frames,  enclosing  oblongs  of  high-hued  sentiment, 
had  the  best  of  the  conflict,  and  in  which  baby  blue, 
showing  in  pictures,  upholstery  and  a  fancy  lamp 
shade,  was  an  easy  second,  despite  its  infantility. 

Foley  sat  in  a  swinging  rocker,  reading  an  evening 
paper,  his  coat  off,  his  feet  in  slippers.  He  did  not 
rise.  "  Hello !  Are  they  havin'  zero  weather  in 
hell?" 

Mr.  Driscoll  passed  the  remark.  "  I  guess  you 
know  what  I'm  here  for." 


THE  WALKING   DELEGATE    27 

"If  youse  give  me  three  guesses,  I  might  be  ahle 
to  hit  it.  But  chair  bottom's  as  cheap  as  carpet.  Set 
down." 

Mr.  Driscoll  sank  into  an  upholstered  chair,  and  a 
skirmish  began  between  his  purple  face  and  the  baby 
blue  of  the  chair's  back.  "  Let's  get  to  business," 
he  said. 

"  Won't  youse  have  a  drink  first?  "  queried  Foley, 
with  baiting  hospitality. 

Mr.  Driscoll's  hands  clenched  the  arms  of  the 
chair.  "  Let's  get  to  business." 

«  Well —fire  away." 

"  You  know  what  it  is." 

"  I  can't  say's  I  do,"  Foley  returned  urbanely. 

The  contractor's  hands  dug  again  into  the  uphol 
stery.  "  About  the  strike  you  called  on  the  St. 
Etienne." 

"Oh,  that!— Well?" 

Mr.  Driscoll  gulped  down  pride  and  anger  and 
went  desperately  to  the  point.  "  What'll  I  have  to 
do  to  settle  it?  " 

"  Um !  Le's  see.  First  of  all,  youse  '11  fire  the 
scabs?" 

44  Yes." 

"  Seems  to  me  I  give  youse  the  chance  to  do  that 
before,  an'  end  it  right  there.  But  it  can't  end  there 
now.  There's  the  wages  the  men's  lost.  Youse  '11 
have  to  pay  waitin'  time." 

44  Extortion,  you  mean,"  Mr.  Driscoll  could  not 
refrain  from  saying. 

;<  Waitin'  time,"  Foley  corrected  blandly. 

"Well,— how  much?"     Mr.   Driscoll  remarked 


28     THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

to  himself  that  he  knew  what  part  of  the  "  waiting 
time  "  the  men  would  get. 

Foley  looked  at  the  ceiling  and  appeared  to  calcu 
late.  "  The  waitin'  time'll  cost  youse  an  even  thou 
sand." 

"What!" 

"  If  youse  ain't  learnt  your  lesson  yet,  youse  might 
as  well  go  back."  He  made  as  if  to  resume  his  paper. 

Mr.  Driscoll  swallowed  hard.  "  Oh,  I'll  pay. 
What  else  can  I  do?  You've  got  me  in  a  corner  with 
a  gun  to  my  head." 

Foley  did  not  deny  the  similitude.  "  Youse  're  get- 
tin'  off  dirt  cheap." 

"  When'll  the  men  go  back  to  work?  " 
'  The  minute  youse  pay,  the  strike's  off." 

Mr.  Driscoll  drew  out  his  check-book,  and  started 
to  fill  in  a  check  with  a  fountain  pen. 

"  Hold  on  there !  "  Foley  cried.     "  No  checks  for 


me." 


"  What's  the  matter  with  a  check?  " 

'  Youse  don't  catch  me  scatterin'  my  name  round 
on  the  back  o'  checks.  D'youse  think  I  was  born 
yesterday?  " 

'  Where's  the  danger,  since  the  money's  to  go  to 
the  men  for  waiting  time?"  Mr.  Driscoll  asked 
sarcastically. 

"  It's  cash  or  nothin',"  Foley  said  shortly. 

"  I've  no  money  with  me.  I'll  bring  it  some  time 
next  week." 

"  Just  as  youse  like.  Only  every  day  raises  the 
price." 

Mr.  Driscoll  made  haste  to  promise  to  deliver  the 


THE   WALKING    DELEGATE     29 

money  Monday  morning  as  soon  as  he  could  get  it 
from  his  bank.  And  Foley  thereupon  promised  to 
have  the  men  ready  to  go  back  to  work  Monday 
afternoon.  So  much  settled,  Mr.  Driscoll  started  to 
leave.  He  was  suffocating. 

44  Won't  youse  have  a  drink?  "  Foley  asked  again, 
at  the  door. 

Mr.  Driscoll  wanted  only  to  get  out  of  Foley's 
company,  where  he  could  explode  without  having  it 
put  in  the  bill.  "  No,"  he  said  curtly. 

44  Well ! — now  me,  when  I  got  to  swallow  a  pill  I 
like  somethin'  to  wash  it  down." 

The  door  slammed,  and  Mr.  Driscoll  puffed  down 
the  stairs  leaving  behind  him  a  trail  of  language  like 
a  locomotive's  plume. 


Chapter   III 
THE  RISE  OF  BUCK  FOLEY 


glared  at  Foley  till  the  walking  dele- 
£ate  had  covered  half  the  distance  to  the 
ladder,  then  he  turned  back  to  his  super- 
vision,  trying  to  hide  the  fires  of  his  wrath. 
But  his  soul  flamed  within  him.  All  that  Foley  had 
just  threatened,  openly  and  by  insinuation,  was  within 
his  power  of  accomplishment.  Tom  knew  that. 
And  every  other  man  in  the  union  was  as  much  at  his 
mercy,  —  and  every  man's  family.  And  many  had 
suffered  greatly,  and  all,  except  Foley's  friends,  had 
suffered  some.  Tom's  mind  ran  over  the  injustice 
Foley  had  wrought,  and  over  Foley's  history  and  the 
union's  history  during  the  last  few  years  .  .  .  and 
there  was  no  sinking  of  the  inward  fire. 

And  yet  there  was  a  long  period  in  the  walking  dele 
gate's  history  on  which  Tom  would  not  have  passed 
harsh  judgment.  Very  early  in  his  career,  in  con 
formity  with  prevailing  custom,  Buck  Foley  had  had 
a  father  and  a  mother.  His  mother  he  did  not 
remember  at  all.  After  she  had  intimated  a  pref 
erence  for  another  man  by  eloping  with  him,  Buck's 
father  had  become  afflicted  with  almost  constant  un 
steadiness  in  his  legs,  an  affliction  that  had  before 
victimized  him  only  at  intervals.  His  father  he 
remembered  chiefly  from  having  carried  a  tin  pail  to 

30 


THE    RISE   OF   BUCK   FOLEY    31 

a  store  around  the  corner  where  a  red-faced  man  filled 
it  and  handed  it  back  to  him  over  a  high  counter;  and 
also  from  a  white  scar  which  even  now  his  hair  did 
not  altogether  conceal.  One  day  his  father  disap 
peared.  Not  long  after  that  Buck  went  to  live  in  a 
big  house  with  a  great  lot  of  boys,  the  little  ones  in 
checked  pinafores,  the  big  ones  in  gray  suits.  After 
six  years  of  life  here,  at  the  age  of  twelve,  he  con 
sidered  that  he  was  fit  for  graduation,  and  so  he  went 
out  into  the  world, — this  on  a  very  dark  night  when 
all  in  the  big  house  were  fast  asleep. 

For  three  years  Buck  was  a  newsboy;  sleeping  in  a 
bed  when  he  could  afford  one,  sleeping  in  hallways, 
over  warm  gratings,  along  the  docks,  when  he  could 
not;  winning  all  the  newsboy's  keen  knowledge  of 
human  nature.  At  fifteen  the  sea  fascinated  him,  and 
he  lived  in  ships  till  he  was  twenty.  Then  a  sailor's 
duties  began  to  irk  him.  He  came  back  to  New 
York,  took  the  first  job  that  offered,  driving  a  truck, 
and  joined  a  political  club  of  young  men  in  a  west  side 
ward.  Here  he  found  himself.  He  rose  rapidly  to 
power  in  the  club.  Dan  McGuire,  the  boss  of  the 
ward,  had  to  take  notice  of  him.  He  left  his  truck 
for  a  city  job  with  a  comfortable  salary  and  nothing 
to  do.  At  twenty-five  he  was  one  of  McGuire's 
closest  aids.  Then  his  impatient  ambition  escaped 
his  control.  He  plotted  a  revolution,  which  should 
overthrow  McGuire  and  enthrone  himself.  But  the 
Boss  had  thirty  years  of  political  cunning,  and  behind 
him  a  strong  machine.  For  these  Buck  was  no  match. 
He  took  again  to  the  sea. 

Buck  shipped  as  second  mate  on  a  steamer  carry- 


32    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

ing  steel  for  a  great  bridge  in  South  Africa.  Five 
years  of  authority  had  unfitted  him  for  the  subordi 
nate  position  of  second  mate,  and  there  were  many 
tilts  with  the  thick-headed  captain.  The  result  was 
that  after  the  steamer  had  discharged  her  cargo 
Foley  quitted  his  berth  and  followed  the  steel  into  the 
interior.  The  contractors  were  in  sore  need  of  men, 
and,  even  though  Foley  was  not  a  bridgeman,  they 
gladly  gave  him  a  job.  His  service  as  a  sailor  had 
fitted  him  to  follow,  without  a  twinge  of  fear,  the 
most  expert  of  the  bridgemen  in  their  daring  clamber 
ing  about  cables  and  over  narrow  steel  beams;  and 
being  naturally  skillful  he  rapidly  became  an  efficient 
workman. 

Of  the  men  sent  out  to  this  distant  job  perhaps  one- 
half  were  union  members.  These  formed  a  local 
branch  of  their  society,  and  this  Foley  was  induced 
to  join.  He  rapidly  won  to  influence  and  power  in  the 
affairs  of  the  union,  finding  here  the  same  keen  enjoy 
ment  in  managing  men  that  he  had  first  tasted  in  Dan 
McGuire's  ward.  After  the  completion  of  this  job 
he  worked  in  Scotland  and  Brazil,  always  active  in 
the  affairs  of  his  union.  At  thirty-two  he  found  him 
self  back  in  New  York, — a  forceful  leader  ripe  for  an 
opportunity. 

He  had  not  been  in  New  York  a  week  when  he  dis 
covered  his  chance.  The  union  there  was  wofully 
weak — an  organization  only  in  name.  The  employ 
ers  hardly  gave  it  a  consideration;  the  members  them 
selves  hardly  held  it  in  higher  esteem.  The  men 
were  working  ten  hours  a  day  for  two  dollars;  lack 
ing  the  support  of  a  strong  union  they  were  afraid  to 


THE    RISE   OF   BUCK   FOLEY    33 

seek  better  terms.  As  Foley  grimly  expressed  it, 
"  The  bosses  have  got  youse  down  an'  are  settin'  on 
your  heads."  Here  in  this  utter  disorganization 
Foley  perceived  his  opportunity.  He  foresaw  the 
extent  to  which  the  erection  of  steel-frame  buildings, 
then  in  its  beginning,  was  certain  to  develop.  His 
trade  was  bound  to  become  the  "fundamental  trade" ; 
until  his  union  had  put  up  the  steel  frames  the  con 
tractors  could  do  nothing — the  other  workmen  could 
do  nothing.  A  strongly  organized  union  holding  this 
power — there  was  no  limit  to  the  concessions  it  might 
demand  and  secure. 

It  was  a  great  opportunity.  Foley  went  quietly  to 
work  on  a  job  at  twelve  dollars  a  week,  and  bided  his 
time.  At  the  end  of  six  months  he  was  elected  presi 
dent  and  walking  delegate  of  the  union.  He  had  no 
trouble  in  securing  the  offices.  No  one  else  wanted 
them.  This  was  early  in  the  spring.  The  first  labor 
he  set  himself  was  the  thorough  organization  of  the 
union  and  the  taking  into  its  ranks  of  every  iron 
worker  in  the  city. 

The  following  spring  there  was  a  strike.  Foley 
now  came  for  the  first  time  before  the  contractors' 
attention.  They  regarded  him  lightly,  having  re 
membrance  of  his  predecessors.  But  they  soon  found 
they  were  facing  a  man  who,  though  uneducated  and 
of  ungrammatical  speech,  was  as  keen  and  powerful 
as  the  best  of  them.  The  strike  was  won,  and  great 
was  the  name  of  Foley.  In  the  next  three  years  there 
were  two  more  strikes  for  increases  in  wages,  which 
were  won.  And  the  name  of  Foley  waxed  greater. 

During  these  first  four  years  no  man  could  have 


34    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

served  the  union  better.  But  here  ended  the  stretch 
of  Foley's  history  on  which  Tom  would  not  have 
passed  harsh  judgment;  and  here  began  the  period 
whose  acts  of  corruption  and  oppression  were  now 
moving  in  burning  procession  through  Tom's  mind. 
It  is  a  matter  of  no  moment  whether  Foley  or  the 
employers  took  the  initiative  in  starting  him  on  the 
new  phase  of  his  career  as  a  labor  leader.  It  is 
axiomatic  that  money  is  the  ammunition  of  war; 
among  the  employers  there  were  many  who  were 
indifferent  whether  this  ammunition  was  spent  in  fight 
ing  or  in  buying.  On  the  other  hand,  Foley's  train 
ing  on  the  street  and  in  Dan  McGuire's  ward  was  not 
such  as  to  produce  an  incorruptible  integrity.  It  is 
only  fair  to  Foley  to  say  that  the  first  sums  he  received 
were  in  return  for  services  which  did  not  work  any 
injury  or  loss  to  the  union.  It  was  easy  to  excuse  to 
himself  these  first  lapses.  He  knew  his  own  worth; 
he  saw  that  men  of  much  less  capacity  in  the  employ 
of  the  bosses  were  paid  big  salaries.  The  union  paid 
him  thirty  dollars  a  week.  "  Who's  hurt  if  I  increase 
my  salary  to  something  like  it  ought  to  be  at  the 
expense  of  the  bosses?  "  he  reasoned;  and  took  the 
money  with  an  easy  conscience. 

This  first  "  easy  money  "  made  Foley  hungry  for 
more.  He  saw  the  many  opportunities  that  existed 
for  acquiring  it;  he  saw  where  he  could  readily  create 
other  opportunities.  In  earlier  days  he  had  envied 
McGuire  the  chances  that  were  his.  He  had  no  rea 
son  to  envy  McGuire  now. 

During  the  first  three  or  four  years  of  his  adminis 
tration  there  was  no  opposition  to  him  within  the 


THE    RISE   OF   BUCK   FOLEY    35 

union.  His  work  was  too  strenuous  to  be  envied  him 
by  any  man.  But  after  the  union  had  become  an 
established  power,  and  the  position  of  walking  dele 
gate  one  of  prominence,  a  few  ambitious  spirits  began 
to  aspire  to  his  job.  Also  there  began  to  be  mutter- 
ings  about  his  grafting.  A  party  was  formed  which 
secretly  busied  itself  with  a  plan  to  do  to  him  what  he 
had  tried  to  do  to  Dan  McGuire.  He  triumphed,  as 
McGuire  had  triumphed.  But  the  revolution,  though 
unsuccessful,  had  a  deep  lesson  for  him.  It  taught 
him  that,  unless  he  fortified  it,  his  position  was  inse 
cure.  At  present  he  was  dependent  for  its  retention 
upon  the  favor  of  the  members;  and  favor,  as  he 
knew,  was  not  a  dependable  quantity. 

He  was  determined  to  remain  the  walking  delegate 
of  the  union.  He  had  made  the  union,  and  the 
position.  They  were  both  his  by  right.  He  rapidly 
took  measures  to  insure  himself  against  the  possibility 
of  overthrow.  He  became  relentless  to  all  opposi 
tion.  Those  who  dared  talk  were  quick  to  hear  from 
him.  Some  fared  easily — the  clever  ones  who  were 
not  bribe-proof.  After  being  given  jobs  as  foremen, 
and  presented  with  neat  little  sums,  they  readily  saw 
the  justice  of  Foley's  cause.  Some,  who  were  not 
worth  bribing,  he  intimidated  into  silence.  Those 
whom  he  had  threatened  and  who  still  talked  found 
themselves  out  of  work  and  unable  to  get  new  jobs; 
they  were  forced  into  other  trades  or  out  of  the  city. 
A  few  such  examples  lessened  the  necessity  for  such 
severe  action.  Men  with  families  to  support  per 
ceived  the  value  of  a  discreet  tongue. 

These  methods  were  successful  in  quelling  open 


36    THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

opposition;  but  they,  together  with  the  knowledge 
that  Foley  was  taking  money  wherever  it  was  offered, 
had  the  effect  of  rapidly  alienating  the  better  element 
in  the  union.  This  forced  him  into  a  close  alliance 
with  the  rougher  members,  who  were  greatly  in  the 
minority.  But  this  minority,  never  more  than  five 
hundred  out  of  three  thousand  men,  Foley  made 
immensely  effective.  He  instructed  them  to  make  the 
meetings  as  disorderly  as  possible.  His  scheme 
worked  to  perfection.  The  better  members  came  less 
and  less  frequently,  and  soon  the  meetings  were  en 
tirely  in  the  hands  of  the  roughs.  As  time  passed 
Foley  grew  more  and  more  jealous  of  his  power,  and 
more  and  more  harsh  in  the  methods  used  to  guard  it. 
He  attached  to  himself  intimately  several  of  the  worst 
of  his  followers  whom  grim  facetiousness  soon  nomi 
nated  "  The  Entertainment  Committee."  If  any  one 
attacked  him  now,  the  bold  one  did  so  knowing  that 
he  would  probably  experience  the  hospitality  of  these 
gentlemen  the  first  dark  night  he  ventured  forth  alone. 
Such  were  the  conditions  behind  the  acts  of  tyranny 
that  Tom  furiously  overhauled,  as  he  mechanically 
directed  the  work.  He  had  considered  these  con 
ditions  and  acts  before,  but  never  with  such  fierceness 
as  now.  Hitherto  he  had  been,  as  it  were,  merely 
one  citizen,  though  a  more  or  less  prominent  one,  of 
an  oppressed  nation;  now  he,  as  an  individual,  had 
felt  the  tyrant's  malevolence.  He  had  before  talked 
of  the  union's  getting  rid  of  Foley  as  a  necessary 
action,  and  only  the  previous  night  he  had  gone  to 
the  length  of  denouncing  Foley  in  open  meeting,  an 
adventurous  act  that  had  not  been  matched  in  the 


THE    RISE   OF  BUCK  FOLEY    37 

union  for  two  years.  Perhaps,  in  the  course  of  time, 
his  patriotism  alone  would  have  pushed  him  to  take 
up  arms  against  Foley.  But  now  to  his  patriotic 
indignation  there  was  added  the  selfish  wrath  of  the 
outraged  individual, — and  the  sum  was  an  impulse 
there  was  no  restraining. 

Tom  was  not  one  who,  in  a  hot  moment,  for  the 
assuagement  of  his  wrath,  would  bang  down  his  fist 
and  consign  himself  to  a  purpose.  Here,  however, 
was  a  case  where  wrath  made  the  same  demand  that 
already  had  been  made  by  cool,  moral  judgment — the 
dethronement  of  Foley.  And  Tom  felt  in  himself 
the  power  for  its  accomplishment.  He  was  well 
furnished  with  self-confidence, — lacking  which  any 
man  is  an  engine  without  fire.  During  the  last  five 
years — that  is,  since  he  was  twenty-five,  when  he 
began  to  look  upon  life  seriously — the  knowledge  had 
grown  upon  him  that  he  was  abler,  and  of  stronger 
purpose,  than  his  fellows.  He  had  accepted  this 
knowledge  quietly,  as  a  fact.  It  had  not  made  him 
presumptuous;  rather  it  had  imposed  upon  him  a 
serious  sense  of  duty. 

He  considered  the  risks  of  a  fight  against  Foley. 
Personal  danger, — plenty  of  that,  yes, — but  his  hot 
mind  did  not  care  for  that.  Financial  loss, — he  drew 
back  from  thinking  what  his  wife  would  say;  anyhow, 
there  were  his  savings,  which  would  keep  them  for 
awhile,  if  worst  came  to  worst. 

As  the  men  were  leaving  the  building  at  the  end  of 
the  day's  work,  Tom  drew  Barry  and  Pete  to  one 
side.  u  I  know  you  fellows  don't  like  Foley  a  lot," 
he  began  abruptly,  "  but  I  don't  know  how  far  you're 


38    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

willing  to  go.  For  my  part,  I  can't  stand  for  him 
any  longer.  Can't  we  get  together  to-night  and 
have  a  talk?" 

To  this  Barry  and  Pete  agreed. 

"  Where'bouts?  "  asked  Barry. 

Tom  hesitated;  and  he  was  thinking  of  his  wife 
when  he  said,  "  How  about  your  house?  " 

"  Glad  to  have  you,"  was  Barry's  answer. 


Chapter 
A    COUNCIL    OF    WAR 


lived    in   the   district     below   West 
Fourteenth  Street,  where,  to  the  bewil- 
dered    explorer    venturing    for    the    first 
time  into  that  region,  the  jumbled  streets 
seem  to  have  been  laid  out  by  an  egg-beater. 

It  was  almost  six  o'clock  when,  hungry  and 
wrathful,  he  thrust  his  latch-key  into  the  door 
of  his  four-room  flat.  The  door  opened  into  black 
ness.  He  gave  an  irritated  groan  and  groped  about 
for  matches,  in  the  search  striking  his  hip  sharply 
against  the  corner  of  the  dining  table.  A  match 
found  and  the  gas  lit,  he  sat  down  in  the  sitting- 
room  to  await  his  wife's  coming.  From  the  mantel 
a  square,  gilded  clock,  on  which  stood  a  knight  in 
full  armor,  counted  off  the  minutes  with  irritating 
deliberation.  It  struck  six;  no  Maggie.  Tom's 
impatience  rapidly  mounted,  for  he  had  promised 
to  be  at  Barry's  at  quarter  to  eight.  He  was  on  the 
point  of  going  to  a  restaurant  for  his  dinner,  when, 
at  half-past  six,  he  heard  the  fumble  of  a  latch-key 
in  the  lock,  and  in  came  his  wife,  followed  by  their 
son,  a  boy  of  four,  crying  from  weariness. 

She  was  a  rather  large,  well-formed,  and  well- 
featured  young  woman,  and  was  showily  dressed  in 
the  extreme  styles  of  the  cheap  department  stores. 
She  was  pretty,  with  the  prettiness  of  cheap  jewelry. 

39 


40     THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

Tom  rose  as  she  carefully  placed  her  packages  on 
the  table.  "  You  really  decided  to  come  home,  did 
you?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  I'm  late,"  she  said  crossly,  breath 
ing  heavily.  "  But  it  wasn't  my  fault.  I  started 
early  enough.  But  there  was  such  a  mob  in  the 
store  you  couldn't  get  anywhere.  If  you'd  been 
squeezed  and  pushed  and  punched  like  I  was  in  the 
stores  and  in  the  street  cars,  well,  you  wouldn't  say 
a  word." 

"  Of  course  you  had  to  go !  " 

"  I  wasn't  going  to  miss  a  bargain  of  that  kind. 
You  don't  get  'em  often." 

Tom  gazed  darkly  at  the  two  bulky  packages, 
the  cause  of  his  delayed  dinner.  "  Can  I  have 
something  to  eat, — and  quick?  " 

By  this  time  her  hat  and  jacket  were  off.  "  Just 
as  soon  as  I  get  back  my  breath,"  she  said,  and  be 
gan  to  undo  the  packages. 

The  little  boy  came  to  her  side. 

"  I'm  so  hungry,  ma,"  he  whined.  "  Gimme  a 
piece." 

"  Dinner  '11  be  ready  in  a  little  while,"  she  an 
swered  carelessly. 

"  But  I  can't  wait!  " — and  he  began  to  cry. 

Maggie  turned  upon  him  sharply.  "  If  you  don't 
stop  that  bawling,  Ferdie,  you  shan't  have  a  bite  of 
dinner." 

The  boy  cried  all  the  louder. 

"  Oh,  you!  "  she  ejaculated;  and  took  a  piece  of 
coarse  cake  from  the  cupboard  and  handed  it  to  him. 
"Now  do  be  still!" 


A   COUNCIL  OF  WAR  41 

Ferdinand  filled  his  mouth  with  the  cake,  and 
she  returned  to  the  packages.  "  I  been  wanting 
something  to  fill  them  empty  places  at  the  ends  of 
the  mantel  this  long  time,  and  when  I  saw  the 
advertisement  in  the  papers  this  morning,  I  said  it 
was  just  the  thing.  .  .  .  Now  there !  " 

Out  of  one  pasteboard  box  she  had  taken  a  dancing 
Swiss  shepherdess,  of  plaster,  pink  and  green  and  blue, 
and  out  of  the  other  box  a  dancing  Swiss  shepherd. 
One  of  these  peasants  she  had  put  on  either  side  of 
the  knight,  at  the  ends  of  the  mantel. 

11  Now,  don't  you  like  that?  " 

Tom  looked  doubtfully  at  the  latest  adornment 
of  his  home.  Somehow,  he  didn't  just  like  it, 
though  he  didn't  know  why.  "  I  guess  it  '11  do," 
he  said  at  length. 

"  And  they  were  only  thirty-nine  cents  apiece! 
Now  when  I  get  a  new  tidy  for  the  mantel, — a  nice 
pink  one  with  flowers.  Just  you  wait!  " 

"  Well— but  let's  have  dinner  first." 

"  In  just  a  minute."  With  temper  restored  by 
sight  of  her  art  treasures,  Maggie  went  into  the  bed 
room  and  quickly  returned  in  an  old  dress.  The 
dinner  of  round  steak,  fried  potatoes  and  coffee  was 
ready  in  a  very  short  time.  The  steak  avenged  its 
hasty  preparation  by  presenting  one  badly  burnt  side. 
But  Tom  ate  the  poor  dinner  without  complaint. 
He  was  used  to  poor  dinners;  and  his  only  desire  was 
to  get  away  and  to  Barry's. 

Once  during  the  meal  he  looked  at  his  wife,  a 
question  in  his  mind.  Should  he  tell  her?  But 
his  eyes  fell  back  to  his  plate  and  he  said  nothing. 


42      THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

She  must  know  some  time,  of  course — but  he  didn't 
want  the  scene  now. 

But  she  herself  approached  uncomfortably  near 
the  subject.  She  had  glanced  at  him  hesitatingly 
several  times  while  they  were  eating;  as  he  was  rising 
from  the  table  she  began  resolutely:  "I  met  Mrs. 
Jones  this  afternoon.  She  told*  me  what  you  said 
about  Foley  last  night  at  the  meeting.  Her  husband 
told  her." 

Tom  paused. 

"  There's  no  sense  doing  a  thing  of  that  kind," 
she  went  on.  "  Here  we  are  just  beginning  to  have 
things  a  little  comfortable.  You  know  well  enough 
what  Foley  can  do  to  you  if  you  get  him  down  on 
you." 

"  Well?  "  Tom  said  guardedly. 

"  Well,  don't  you  be  that  foolish  again.  We  can't 
afford  it." 

"  I'll  see  about  it."  He  went  into  the  sitting- 
room  and  returned  with  hat  and  overcoat  on.  "  I'm 
going  over  to  Barry's  for  awhile — on  some  business," 
he  said,  and  went  out. 

Barry  and  Pete,  who  boarded  with  the  Barrys, 
were  waiting  in  the  sitting-room  when  Tom  arrived, 
— and  with  them  sat  Mrs.  Barry  and  a  boy  of  about 
thirteen  and  a  girl  apparently  a  couple  of  years 
younger,  the  two  children  with  idle  school  books  in 
their  laps.  Mrs.  Barry's  sitting-room,  also  her  par 
lor,  would  not  have  satisfied  that  amiable  lady,  the 
president  of  the  Society  for  Instructing  Wage-Earn 
ers  in  House  Furnishing.  There  was  a  coarse  red 
Smyrna  rug.  in  the  middle  of  the  floor;  a  dingy, 


A   COUNCIL  OF  WAR  43 

blue-flowered  sofa,  with  three  chairs  to  match  (the 
sort  seen  in  the  windows  of  cheap  furniture  stores 
on  bargain  days,  marked  "  Nineteen  dollars  for 
Set")  ;  a  table  in  one  corner,  bearing  a  stack  of  pho 
tographs  and  a  glass  vase  holding  up  a  bunch  of 
pink  paper  roses;  a  half  dozen  colored  prints  in 
gilt-and-white  plaster  frames.  The  room,  however, 
quite  satisfied  Mrs.  Barry,  and  the  amiable  president 
of  the  S.  I.  W.  E.  H.  F.  would  needs  have  given 
benign  approval  to  the  room's  utter  cleanliness. 

Mrs.  Barry,  a  big,  red-faced  woman,  greeted  Tom 
heartily.  Then  she  turned  to  the  boy  and  girl. 
"  Come  on,  children.  We've  got  to  chase  ourselves. 
The  men  folks  want  to  talk."  She  drove  the  two 
before  her  wide  body  into  the  kitchen. 

Tom  plunged  into  the  middle  of  what  he  had  to 
say.  "  We've  talked  about  Foley  a  lot — all  of  us. 
We've  said  other  unions  are  managed  decently,  hon 
estly — why  shouldn't  ours  be?  We've  said  we  didn't 
like  Foley's  bulldozing  ways.  We  didn't  like  the 
tough  gang  he's  got  into  the  union.  We  didn't  like 
the  rough-house  meetings.  We  didn't  like  his  graft 
ing.  We've  said  we  ought  to  raise  up  and  kick  him 
out.  And  then,  having  said  that  much,  we've  gone 
back  to  work — me,  you  and  all  the  rest  of  us — and 
he's  kept  on  bullying  us,  and  using  the  union  as  a 
lever  to  pry  off  graft.  I'm  dead  sick  of  this  sort 
of  business.  For  one,  I'm  tired  talking.  I'm  ready 
for  doing." 

"  Sure,  we're  all  sick  o'  Foley.  But  what  d'  you 
think  we  ought  to  do?  "  queried  Barry. 

"  Fire  him  out,"  Tom  answered  shortly. 


44    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  It  only  takes  three  words  to  say  that,"  said 
Pig  Iron.  "  But  how?" 

"  Fire  him  out!  "  Tom  was  leaning  forward  in 
his  chair,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  big,  red  hands 
interlocked.  There  was  determination  in  his  square 
face,  in  the  set  of  his  powerful  red  neck,  in  the  hunch 
of  his  big  shoulders.  He  gazed  steadily  at  the  two 
men  for  a  brief  space.  "  Boys,  my  mind's  made 
up.  I'm  going  to  fight  him." 

Pete  and  Barry  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

*  You're  goin'  to  fight  Buck  Foley !  "  cried  Barry. 
"  You're  jokin' !  "  said  Pig  Iron. 

"  I'm  in  dead  earnest." 

4  You  know  what'll  happen  to  you  if  you  lose?  " 
queried  Barry. 

*  Yes.     And  I  know  Foley  may  not  even  give  me 
a  chance  to  lose,"  Tom  added   grimly. 

'  You've  got  nerve  to  burn,  Tom,"  said  Pig  Iron. 
"  It's  not  an  easy  proposition.  Myself,  I'd  as  soon 
put  on  the  gloves  an'  mix  it  up  with  the  devil.  An' 
to  spit  it  right  out  on  the  carpet,  Tom,  I  think  Buck's 
done  the  union  a  lot  o'  good." 

"  You're  right  there,  Pete.  No  one  knows  that 
better  than  I  do.  As  you  fellows  know,  I  left  town 
eight  years  ago  and  was  bridging  in  the  West  four 
years.  I  was  pretty  much  of  a  kid  when  I  went 
away,  but  I  was  old  enough  to  see  the  union  didn't 
have  enough  energy  left  to  die.  When  I  came  back 
and  saw  what  Foley'd  done,  I  thought  he  was  the 
greatest  thing  that  ever  happened.  If  he'd  quit  right 
then  the  union'd  'a'  papered  the  hall  with  his  pictures. 
But  you  know  how  he's  changed  since  then.  The 


A   COUNCIL  OF  WAR  45 

public  knows  it,  too.  Look  how  the  newspapers 
have  been  shooting  it  into  him.  I'm  not  fighting 
Foley  as  he  was  four  or  five  years  ago,  Pete,  but 
Foley  as  he  is  now." 

"  There's  no  denyin'  he's  so  crooked  now  he  can't 
lay  straight  in  bed,"  Pete  admitted. 

"  We've  got  to  get  rid  of  him  some  time,  haven't 
we?  "  Tom  went  on. 

"  Yes,"  the  two  men  conceded. 

"  Or  sooner  or  later  he'll  smash  the  union.  That's 
certain.  Now  there's  only  one  way  to  get  rid  of 
him.  That's  to  go  out  after  him,  and  go  after  him 
hard." 

"  But  it's  an  awful  risk  for  you,  Tom,"  said  Barry. 

"  Someone's  got  to  take  it  if  we  ever  get  rid  of 
Foley." 

"  One  thing's  straight,  anyhow,"  declared  Pete. 
"  You're  the  best  man  in  the  union  to  go  against 
Foley." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Barry. 

Tom  did  not  deny  it. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  Pete  asked : 
"  What's  your  plan?" 

"  Election  comes  the  first  meeting  in  March.  I'm 
going  to  run  against  him  for  walking  delegate." 

"  If  you  care  anything  for  my  opinion,"  said  Pete, 
"here  it  is:  You've  got  about  as  much  chance  as 
a  snowball  in  hell." 

"  You're  away  off,  Pig  Iron.  You  know  as  v,  :11 
as  I  do  that  five-sixths  of  the  men  in  the  union  are 
against  Foley.  Why  do  they  stand  for  him?  Be 
cause  they're  unorganized,  and  he's  got  them  bluffed 


46    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

out.  If  those  men  got  together,  Foley'd  be  the  snow 
ball.  That's  what  I'm  going  to  try  to  do, — get 
those  men  in  line." 

A  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Barry  looked  in.  "  I 
left  my  glasses  somewhere  in  there.  Will  I  bother 
you  men  much  if  I  look  for  'em?  " 

"  Not  me,"  said  Tom.  "  You  can  stay  and  listen 
if  you  want  to." 

Mrs.  Barry  sat  down.  "  I  suppose  you  don't  mind 
tellin'  us  how  you're  goin'  to  get  the  men  in  line," 
said  Pete. 

"  My  platform's  going  to  be  an  honest  adminis 
tration  of  the  affairs  of  the  union,  and  every  man 
to  be  treated  like  a  man.  That's  simple  enough, 
ain't  it? — and  strong  enough?  And  a  demand  for 
more  wages.  I'm  going  to  talk  these  things  to 
every  man  I  meet.  If  they  can  kick  Foley  out,  and 
get  honest  management  and  decent  treatment,  just 
by  all  coming  out  and  voting,  don't  you  think  they're 
going  to  do  it?  They'll  all  fall  in  line." 

"  That  demand  for  more  wages  is  a  good  card. 
Our  wage  contract  with  the  bosses  expires  May  first, 
you  know.  The  men  all  want  more  money;  they 
need  it;  they  deserve  it  If  I  talk  for  it  Foley  '11 
be  certain  to  oppose  it,  and  that  '11  weaken  him. 

u  I  wanted  to  talk  this  over  with  you  fellows  to 
get  your  opinion.  I  thought  you  might  suggest 
something.  But  even  if  you  don't  like  the  scheme, 
and  even  if  you  don't  want  to  join  in  the  fight,  I'm 
going  to  stick  it  out.  My  mind's  made  up." 

Tom  sank  back  into  his  chair  and  waited  for  the 
two  men  to  speak. 


A   COUNCIL  OF  WAR  47 

"  Well,  your  scheme  don't  sound  just  like  an 
insane  asylum, "  Pete  admitted.  "  Count  me  in." 

Tom  looked  across  at  Barry.  Barry's  face  was 
turned  down  and  his  hands  were  inter-gripped. 
Tom  understood.  Barry  had  been  out  of  work  much 
during  the  last  three  years,  and  recent  illness  in  the 
family  had  endowed  him  with  debts.  If  he  actively 
engaged  in  Tom's  movement,  and  Foley  triumphed, 
Foley's  vengeance  would  see  to  it  that  Barry  worked 
no  more  in  New  York.  It  was  too  great  a  risk  to 
ask  of  a  man  situated  as  Barry  was. 

"  I  understand,  Barry,"  said  Tom.  "  That's  all 
right.  Don't  you  do  it." 

Barry  made  no  answer. 

Mrs.  Barry  put  her  hand  on  her  husband's 
shoulder.  "  Jim,  ain't  we  goin'  to  be  in  on  this  fight 
against  Foley?  " 

"  You  know  why,  Mary."  There  was  a  catch  in 
his  voice. 

"  Yes.  Because  of  me  an'  the  kids.  You,  I 
know  you've  got  as  much  nerve  as  anybody.  We're 
goin'  in,  Jim.  An'  if  we  lose " — she  tried  to 
smile — "  why,  I  ain't  much  of  a  consumptive,  am 
I  ?  I'll  take  in  washin'  to  help  out." 

Tom  turned  his  face  about.  Pete  did  the  same, 
and  their  eyes  met.  Pete's  face  was  set  hard.  He 
growled  out  something  that  sounded  very  much  like 
an  oath. 

It  was  midnight  when  Tom  left.  The  strike 
which  Foley  called  on  the  St.  Etienne  Hotel  the  next 
day  gave  him  time  for  much  thinking  about  his  cam 
paign.  He  acquainted  several  of  the  more  influ- 


48    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

ential  members  of  the  union  with  his  purpose,  asking 
them  to  keep  secret  what  he  said  till  he  was  ready  to 
begin  an  open  fight.  All  gave  him  sympathy,  but 
most  of  them  hesitated  when  it  came  to  promising 
active  assistance.  "  Now  if  Foley  only  couldn't  do 
us  out  of  our  jobs,  in  case  you  lose,  we'd  be  right 

with  you.  But "  Fear  inclined  them  to  let  bad 

enough  alone. 

This  set  Tom  to  thinking  again.  On  Monday 
evening — that  afternoon  Foley  had  ordered  the  men 
back  to  work  on  the  St.  Etienne  Hotel — Tom  an 
nounced  a  new  plan  to  Barry  and  Pete.  "  We 
want  to  get  every  argument  we  can  to  use  on  the 
boys.  It  struck  me  we  might  make  some  use  of  the 
bosses.  It's  to  their  interest,  as  well  as  to  ours,  for 
us  to  have  the  right  sort  of  delegate.  If  we  could 
say  that  the  bosses  are  sick  of  Foley  and  want  us  to 
get  a  decent  man,  and  will  guarantee  to  keep  us  at 
work  no  mater  what  Foley  says, — that  might  have 
influence  on  some  of  the  weak-kneed  brothers." 

"  The  boys' d  say  the  bosses  ain't  runnin1  the 
union,"  said  Pete.  "  If  you  get  the  bosses  on  your 
side,  the  boys  '11  all  stand  by  Foley." 

"  I  thought  of  that.  That's  what'd  happen  if  we 
got  mixed  up  with  anybody  on  the  Executive  Com 
mittee  of  the  bosses  except  Baxter.  The  boys  think 
Murphy,  Bobbs,  and  Isaacs  are  pretty  small  potatoes, 
and  they  think  Driscoll's  not  on  the  square.  I  guess 
it's  a  case  of  the  pot  calling  the  kettle  black,  but  you 
know  what  Foley  says  about  Driscoll.  But  with 
Baxter  it's  different.  He's  friendly  to  the  union,  and 
the  boys  know  it.  A  word  from  him  might  help  a 


A   COUNCIL  OF   WAR  49 

lot.  And  he  hates  Foley,  and  Foley  has  no  use  for 
him.  I've  heard  Buck  say  as  much." 

"  It's  worth  tryin',  anyhow,"  Pete  and  Barry 
agreed. 

M  Well,  I'm  going  to  brace  him  to-morrow  after 

work,"  said  Tom. 


Chapter  V 
TOM    SEEKS    HELP    FROM    THE    ENEMY 

T  the  end  of  work  the  next  day  Tom 
joined  the  rush  of  men  down  the  ladders 
and  the  narrow  servants'  stairways,  the 
only  ones  in  as  yet,  and  on  gaining  the 
street  made  for  the  nearest  saloon.  Five  cents  in 
vested  in  beer  secured  for  him  the  liberty  of  the 
house.  He  washed  himself,  brushed  his  hair  and 
clothing,  and  set  forth  for  the  office  of  Baxter  &  Co. 

Baxter  &  Co-,  occupied  one  side  of  the  tenth  floor 
of  a  big  downtown  office  building.  Tom  found  him 
self  in  a  large  waiting-room,  divided  by  a  wooden 
railing,  beyond  which  at  a  desk  sat  an  imperious 
youth  in  a  blue  uniform. 

"  Is  Mr.  Baxter  in?  "  Tom  inquired. 

The  uniform  noted  that  Tom's  clothes  were  worn 
and  wrinkled.  "  He's  busy,"  it  said  stiffly. 

"  Is  he  in?" 

"  I  s'pose  he  is." 

"  Well,  you  tell  him  I  want  to  see  him.  Keat- 
ing's  my  name.  I'll  wait  if  he's  busy." 

The  uniform  carelessly  handed  him  a  slip  of  paper. 
"  Write  down  yer  name  an'  business,  an'  I'll  see  if 
he'll  see  youse." 

With  a  gleam  in  his  eyes  Tom  took  the  printed 
form,  wrote  his  name  and  "  on  business  of  the  Iron 
Workers'  Union." 

50 


TOM    SEEKS   HELP  51 

The  boy  accepted  the  slip  and  calmly  read  it. 
Tom  gave  him  a  push  that  sent  him  spinning.  *'  Get 
a  move  on  you,  there!  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

The  boy  gave  a  startled  look  back,  and  walked 
quickly  down  an  alley  that  ran  between  two  rows  of 
offices.  Tom  sat  down  in  one  of  the  leather-bot 
tomed  chairs  and  with  a  show  of  coolness,  but  with 
inward  excitement,  waited  his  interview  with  Mr. 
Baxter.  He  had  never  met  an  employer  in  his  life, 
save  regarding  his  own  work  or  as  a  member  of  a 
strike  committee.  And  now  the  first  he  was  to  meet 
in  a  private  interview  was  the  most  prominent  em 
ployer  in  his  trade — head  of  the  big  firm  of  Baxter 
&  Co.,,  and  president  of  the  Iron  Employers'  As 
sociation. 

Several  minutes  passed  before  the  uniform  reap 
peared  and  led  Tom  into  Mr.  Baxter's  office,  a  large, 
airy  room  with  red  burlap  walls,  cherry  woodwork, 
cherry  chairs,  a  long  cherry  table,  a  flat-top  cherry 
desk.  The  room  was  absolutely  without  attempt  at 
decoration,  and  was  as  clean  as  though  it  had  been 
swept  and  dusted  the  minute  before.  The  only  piece 
of  paper  in  the  room  was  an  architect's  drawing  of 
a  fagade,  which  Mr.  Baxter  was  examining. 

Mr.  Baxter  did  not  look  up  immediately.  Tom, 
standing  with  hat  in  hand,  was  impressed  with  his 
busyness.  He  was  not  yet  acquainted  with  the  de 
vices  by  which  men  of  affairs  fortify  their  importance. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Baxter  wheeled  about  in  his  chair. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Be  seated.  What  can  I  do 
for  you?  " 

He  was  perhaps  forty-five  or  fifty — slender,   of 


52    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

high,  narrow  brow,  steely  eyes,  and  Vandyke  beard. 
His  neatness  was  equal  to  that  of  his  office;  he 
looked  as  though  he  were  fresh  from  barber,  haber 
dasher  and  tailor.  Tom  understood  the  success  of 
the  man  in  the  first  glance  at  his  face:  he  was  as 
quick  to  act  upon  the  opportunity  as  a  steel  trap. 

Tom  sat  down  in  one  of  the  polished  chairs,  and 
affected  composure  by  throwing  his  left  arm  across 
the  cherry  table.  "  I  belong  to  the  Iron  Workers' 
Union.  To  come  right  to  the  point " 

"  I  shall  be  obliged  if  you  will.  I'm  really  very 
busy." 

Mr.  Baxter's  tone  was  a  model  of  courtesy.  A 
more  analytical  man  than  Tom  might  have  -felt  the 
distinction  that  it  was  the  courtesy  a  gentlemen  owes 
himself,  not  the  courtesy  one  man  owes  another. 
Tom  merely  felt  a  vague  antagonism,  and  that  put 
him  at  his  ease. 

"  I'm  busy,  too,"  he  returned  quietly.  "  What 
I've  come  to  see  you  about  is  a  matter  which  I  con 
sider  of  great  importance  to  the  bosses  and  the  union. 
And  I've  come  to  see  you  because  I  know  you  are 
friendly  to  the  union." 

"  I  believe  that  in  most  cases  the  interests  of  the 
employers  and  the  interests  of  the  union  are  practi 
cally  the  same." 

"  And  also  because  you  don't  like  Foley." 

Mr.  Baxter  fingered  his  narrow  watch  chain  a 
moment.  "  So  you've  come  to  see  me  about  Mr. 
Foley?" 

"  Yes.  There's  no  use  going  into  details  with 
you,  Mr.  Baxter.  You  know  the  sort  Foley  is  as 


TOM    SEEKS   HELP  53 

well  as  I  do.  He  bullies  the  union.  That's  noth 
ing  to  you.  But  he's  not  on  the  square  with  the 
bosses.  That  is.  As  you  said  awhile  ago,  the  in 
terests  of  the  bosses  and  the  union  are  the  same.  It's 
to  the  interest  of  both  to  get  rid  of  Foley.  That's 
so,  ain't  it?  " 

Mr.  Baxter's  face  was  inscrutable.  '  You're  go 
ing  to  turn  him  out  then?" 

"  We're  going  to  try  to." 

"And  what  will  be  your  policy  then? — if  you 
don't  mind  my  asking  it." 

"  To  run  things  on  the  square." 

"  A  praiseworthy  purpose.  Of  course  you'll  put 
in  a  square  man  as  delegate  then." 

"  I'm  going  to  run  myself." 

Tom  thought  he  saw  a  significant  look  pass  across 
Mr.  Baxter's  face.  "  Not  because  I'm  anxious  for 
his  job,"  he  hastened  to  explain.  "  But  somebody's 
got  to  run  against  him." 

Mr.  Baxter  nodded  slightly.  "  I  see.  Not  a 
very  popular  risk."  His  keen  eyes  never  wavered 
from  Tom's  face.  "  How  do  propose  to  defeat 
Foley?  But  don't  tell  me  anything  you  don't 


want  to." 


Tom  outlined  his  plans  for  organizing  the  better 
element  against  Foley. 

"  That  sounds  feasible,"  was  Mr.  Baxter's  com 
ment  when  Tom  had  concluded.  His  eyes  were 
still  fastened  on  Tom's  face.  "  And  after  you  win, 
there  '11  be  a  strike?" 

This  question,  asked  quietly  but  with  electrical 
quickness,  caught  Tom  unprepared.  He  floundered 


54    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

an   instant.     "  We've  got  to  bridge  two  or  three 
rivers  before  we  come  to  that  one/'  he  answered. 

Mr.  Baxter  hardly  moved  an  eyelash.  "  That's 
obvious.  And  now,  aside  from  the  benefit  which 
we  are  to  secure  by  the  change,  how  does  your  plan 
concern  me?  " 

"  Since  you  are  going  to  profit  by  the  fight,  if  we 
win,  I  thought  you  might  help  us.  And  you  can  do 
it  easy  enough.  One  thing  that'll  keep  a  lot  of  the 
members  from  joining  in  the  fight  is  that  they're 
afraid,  if  Foley  wins  out,  he'll  get  'em  all  fired. 
Now  if  you'll  simply  guarantee  that  you'll  stand  by 
the  men,  why,  they'll  all  come  out  against  Foley  and 
we'll  beat  him  five  to  one.  There'll  be  no  chance 
for  us  to  lose." 

Mr.  Baxter's  white  brow  wrinkled  in  thought. 
Tom  waited  his  words  in  suspense.  At  length  he 
spoke. 

'  You  will  readily  realize,  Mr.  Keating,  that  it 
is  an  almost  unprecedented  step  for  us  to  take  such  a 
part  in  the  affairs  of  a  union.  Your  suggestion  is 
something  I  must  think  about." 

Tom  had  been  certain  Mr.  Baxter  would  fall  in 
with  his  scheme  enthusiastically.  It  required  so  little, 
merely  his  word,  and  assured  so  much.  Mr.  Bax 
ter's  judicial  reception  of  his  plan  shot  him  through 
with  disappointment. 

'  What,  don't  it  appeal  to  you?  "  he  cried. 

"  It  certainly  seems  full  of  promise." 

"  It  will  clear  us  of  Foley — certain!  And  it  is  to 
the  interest  of  both  of  us  that  the  union  be  run  on 
the  square." 


TOM    SEEKS   HELP  55 

"  That's  true, — very  true.  But  the  most  I  can 
say  to  you  now,  Mr.  Keating,  is  that  I'll  take  the 
matter  under  advisement.  Come  to  see  me  again 
in  a  few  days." 

Mr.  Baxter  began  to  finger  the  drawing  on  his 
desk,  whereby  Tom  knew  the  interview  was  at  an 
end.  Greatly  dashed,  but  somewhat  reassured  by 
the  contractor's  last  words,  he  said  good-afternoon 
and  withdrew.  The  uniform  respectfully  opened  the 
gate  in  the  railing.  In  the  uniform's  book  of  wis- 
dojir  it  was  writ  down  that  anyone  who  could  be 
closeted  with  your  boss  was  deserving  of  courtesy. 

The  instant  the  office  door  closed  on  Tom's  back 
Mr.  Baxter  quickly  rose  and  ^paced  the  floor  for 
several  minutes.  Then  he  sat  down  at  his  desk,  took 
a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  drawer,  and  dashed  off  a 
note  to  Foley. 

Mr.  Baxter  did  not  rise  to  greet  Foley  when  the 
walking  delegate  entered  his  office  the  next  after 
noon.  "  Mr.  Foley,"  he  said,  with  a  short  nod  of 
his  head. 

"  Youse  guessed  my  name,"  said  Foley,  cooly 
helping  himself  to  a  chair.  "  What's  doin'?  " 

The  two  men  watched  each  other  narrowly,  as 
might  two  enemies  who  have  established  a  truce,  yet 
who  suspect  treachery  on  the  part  of  the  other. 
There  was  a  distant  superiority  in  the  manner  of  Mr. 
Baxter, — and  also  the  hardly  concealed  strain  of  the 
man  who,  from  policy  or  breeding,  would  be  polite 
where  he  loathes.  Foley,  tilted  back  in  his  chair, 
matched  this  manner  with  an  air  of  defiant  self- 
assertion. 


56    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

Mr.  Baxter  rapidly  sketched  the  outline  of  what 
Tom  had  said  to  him. 

u  And  so  Keating  come  to  youse  for  help,"  grinned 
Foley.  "That  ain't  bad!" 

Mr.  Baxter  did  not  recognize  Foley's  equality  by 
smiling.  "  I  thought  it  to  your  interest  to  let  you 
know  this  at  once,  for " 

"  And  to  your  interest,  too." 

"  I  knew  you  were  not  particularly  desirous  of 
having  Mr.  Keating  elected,"  he  continued. 

41  I'm  just  about  as  anxious  as  youse  are,"  said 
Foley  promptly.  "  Anyhow,"  he  added  carelessly, 
"  I  already  knew  what  youse  told  me."  Which  he 
did  not. 

"  Then  my  sending  for  you  and  telling  you  has 
served  no  purpose."  The  coldness  of  his  voice 
placed  a  wide  distance  between  himself  and  the  walk 
ing  delegate. 

Foley  perceived  the  distance,  and  took  a  vindictive 
pleasure  in  bridging  it  with  easy  familiarity.  "  Not 
at  all,  Baxter.  It  gives  youse  a  chance  to  show  how 
much  youse  like  me,  an'  how  much  youse  Ve  got 
the  interest  o'  the  union  at  heart." 

The  lean,  sarcastic  face  nettled  Mr.  Baxter.  "  I 
think  my  reputation  speaks  for  my  interest  in  the 
union,"  he  said  stiffly. 

1  Your  interest  in  the  union !  "  Foley  laughed. 

No  man  had  ever  seen  Mr.  Baxter  lose  his  self- 
control;  but  he  was  as  near  losing  it  now  as  he  had 
ever  been,  else  he  would  not  have  made  so  weak  a 
rejoinder. 

"  My  reputation  speaks  for  my  interest,"  he  re- 


TOM   SEEKS  HELP  57 

peated.  "  You  won't  find  a  man  in  your  union  but 
that  '11  say  I'm  the  union's  friend.'* 

Foley  laughed  again — a  harsh,  biting  laugh. 
"  An'  why  do  they  say  it,  eh?  Because  I  told  'em 
so.  An'  youse  've  got  the  nerve,  Baxter,  to  sit  there 
an'  talk  that  rot  to  me ! — me,  the  man  that  made 
youse!  " 

"Made  me!"  ^ 

Foley's  heart  leaped  to  see  the  wrathful  color  flame 
in  the  white  cheek  of  the  suave  and  collected  Mr. 
Baxter — to  see  the  white  shapely  hands  twitch. 

"  Yes,  made  youse !  "  And  he  went  on  with  his 
grim  pleasure.  "  Youse  're  doin'  twice  the  business 
youse  were  three  years  ago.  Why  did  youse  get  the 
contracts  for  the  Atwell  building  and  the  Sewanee 
Hotel — the  two  jobs  that  put  youse  at  the  head  o' 
things  in  New  York?  Because  Driscoll,  Bobbs,  an' 
some  o'  the  others  had  failed  to  get  the  jobs  they 
were  workin'  on  done  in  contract  time.  An'  why 
didn't  they  get  done  on  time?  Because  youse  didn't 
want  'em  to  get  through  on  time.  I  saw  that  they 
got  bum  men,  who  made  mistakes, — an'  I  give  'em 
their  bellyful  o'  strikes." 

"  You  didn't  do  these  things  out  of  love  for  me," 
Mr.  Baxter  put  in  meaningly.  He  was  getting  him 
self  in  hand  again. 

"  Sure,  I  didn't, — not  any  more'n  youse  told  me 
about  Keating  for  love  o'  me." 

Foley  went  on.  "  The  men  who  want  buildings 
put  up  have  found  youse  get  through  on  time,  an' 
the  others  don't — so  youse  get  the  business.  Why 
do  youse  get  through  on  time?  Because  I  see  youse 


58    THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

get  the  fastest  men  in  the  union.  An'  because  I  see 
youse  don't  have  any  labor  trouble." 

"  Neither  of  which  you  do  solely  for  love." 

44  Sure  not.  Now  don't  youse  say  again  I  haven't 
made  youse.  An'  don't  give  me  that  hot  air  about 
bein'  friendly  to  the  union.  Three  years  ago  youse 
seen  clearer  than  the  others  that  youse  bosses  was 
bound  to  lose  the  strike.  Youse  'd  been  fightin'  the 
union  till  then,  an'  not  makin'  any  more'n  the  rest  o' 
the  bosses.  So  youse  tried  a  new  game.  Youse  led 
the  other  bosses  round  to  give  in,  an'  got  the  credit 
o'  bein'  a  friend  o'  the  union.  I  know  how  much 
youse  like  the  union !  " 

44  Pardon  me  if  I  fail  to  see  the  purpose  of  all  this 
retrospection,"  said  Mr.  Baxter  sarcastically. 

44  I  just  wanted  to  remind  youse  that  I'm  on  to 
youse  from  hair  to  toenails — that's  all,"  Foley  an 
swered  calmly. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  wiser  to  confine  our  con 
versation  to  the  matter  in  hand,"  said  Mr.  Baxter 
coldly.  "  Mr.  Keating  said  he  was  certain  to  beat 
you.  What  chance  does  he  have  of  being  elected?  " 

4  The  same  as  youse." 

44  And  a  strike, — how  about  that?" 

44  It  follows  if  I'm  elected,  don't  it,  there'll  not 
be  any  strike." 

u  That's  according  to  our  agreement,"  said  Mr. 
Baxter. 

44  No,"  said  Foley,  as  he  rose,  44  Keating  ain't 
goin'  to  trouble  youse  much."  A  hard  look  came 
over  his  face.  44  Nor  me." 


Chapter  VI 
IN  WHICH    FOLEY    PLAYS  WITH  TWO  MICE 

HOLEY  left  Mr.  Baxter's  office  with  the 
purpose  of  making  straight  for  the  office 
of  Mr.  Driscoll;  but  his  inborn  desire  to 
play  with  the  mouse  caused  him  to  change 
the  direct  road  to  an  acute  angle  having  at  its  apex 
the  St.  Etienne  Hotel.  He  paused  a  moment  to  look 
up  at  the  great  black  skeleton, — a  lofty  scaffolding 
that  might  have  been  erected  for  some  mural  painter 
ambitious  to  fresco  his  fame  upon  the  sky.  He  saw 
the  crane  swing  a  beam  to  its  place  between  two  of 
the  outside  columns,  and  saw  a  man  step  upon  its 
either  end  to  bolt  it  to  its  place.  Suddenly  the  crane 
jerked  up  the  beam,  and  the  men  frantically  threw 
their  arms  around  it.  As  suddenly  the  crane  lowered 
it.  It  struck  upon  the  head  of  a  column.  Foley 
saw  one  man  fly  from  the  beam,  catch  hold  of  the 
end  of  a  board  that  extended  over  the  edge  of  the 
building,  hang  there;  saw  the  beam,  freed  in  some 
manner  from  the  pulley  hook,  start  down,  ridden  by 
one  man;  and  then  saw  it  come  whirling  downward 
alone. 

"  Look  out!  "  he  shouted  with  all  his  lungs. 
Pedestrians  rushed  wildly  from  beneath  the  shed 
which  extended,  as  a  protection  to  them,  over  the 
sidewalk.     Horses  were  jerked  rearing  backwards. 

59 


60    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

The  black  beam  crashed  through  the  shed  and  through 
the  pine  sidewalk.  Foley  dashed  inside  and  for  the 
ladder. 

Up  on  the  great  scaffolding  hands  had  seized 
the  wrists  of  the  pendant  man  and  lifted  him  to 
safety.  All  were  now  leaning  over  the  platform's 
edge,  gazing  far  down  at  the  ragged  hole  in  the 
shed. 

"  D'you  see  Pete?"  Tom  asked  at  large,  in  a 
strained  voice. 

There  were  several  noes. 

"  That  was  certainly  the  last  o'  Pig  Iron,"  mut 
tered  one  of  the  gang. 

He  was  not  disputed. 

"  It  wasn't  my  fault,"  said  the  signalman,  as 
pale  as  paper.  "  I  didn't  give  any  wrong  signals. 
Someone  below  must  'a'  got  caught  in  the  rope." 

"I'm  going  down,"  said  Tom;  and  started  rap 
idly  for  the  ladder's  head — to  be  met  with  an  as 
cending  current  of  the  sort  of  English  story  books 
ascribe  to  pirates.  Pete's  body  followed  the  words 
so  closely  as  to  suggest  a  possible  relation  between 
the  two.  Tom  worked  Pete's  hand.  The  men 
crowded  up. 

"  Now  who  the" — some  pirate  words — "  done 
that?  "  Pete  demanded. 

l<  It  was  all  an  accident,"  Tom  explained. 

"  But  I  might  V  been  kilt!" 

"  Sure  you  might,"  agreed  Johnson  sympatheti 
cally. 

"  How  is  it  you  weren't?"  Tom  asked. 

"  The  beam,  in  whirlin'  over,  swung  the  end  I 


FOLEY    PLAYS   WITH    MICE     61 

was   on   into   the   floor  below.     I  grabbed   a   beam 
an'  let  it  travel  alone.     That's  all." 

Foley,  breathing  deeply  from  his  rapid  climb, 
emerged  this  instant  from  the  flooring,  and  walked 
quickly  to  the  group.  "  Anybody  kilt?  "  he  asked. 

The  particulars  of  the  accident  were  given  him. 
"  Well,  boys,  youse  see  what  happens  when  youse 
got  a  foreman  that  ain't  onto  his  job." 

Tom  contemptuously  turned  his  back  and  walked 
away. 

"  I  don't  see  why  Driscoll  don't  fire  him,"  growled 
Jake. 

"  Who  knows  what  '11  happen!  "  Foley  turned  a 
twisted,  knowing  look  about  the  group.  "  He's  been 
talkin'  a  lot!" 

He  walked  over  to  where  Tom  stood  watching  the 
gang  about  the  north  crane.  "  I'm  dead  onto  your 
game,"  he  said,  in  a  hard,  quiet  voice,  his  eyes 
glittering. 

Tom  was  startled.  He  had  expected  Foley  to 
learn  of  his  plan,  but  thought  he  had  guarded  against 
such  an  early  discovery.  "Well?"  he  said  de 
fiantly. 

Foley  began  to  play  with  his  mouse.  "  I  guess 
youse  know  things  '11  begin  to  happen."  He  greedily 
watched  Tom's  face  for  signs  of  inward  squirming. 
"  Remember  the  little  promise  I  made  youse  t'other 
day?  Buck  Foley  usually  keeps  his  promises,  don't 
he— hey?" 

But  the  mouse  refused  to  be  played  with.  u  The 
other  beam,  boys,"  it  called  out  to  three  men,  and 
strode  away  toward  them. 


62    THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

Foley  watched  Tom  darkly  an  instant,  and  then 
turned  sharply  about.  At  the  ladder's  head  Jake 
stopped  him. 

41  Get  him  fired,  Buck.  Here's  your  chance  to 
get  me  that  foreman's  job  you  promised  me.'* 

;*  We'll  see,"  Foley  returned  shortly,  and  passed 
down  the  ladder  and  along  the  other  leg  of  the  angle 
to  the  office  of  Driscoll  &  Co.  He  gave  his  name 
to  Miss  Arnold.  She  brought  back  the  message 
that  he  should  call  again,  as  Mr.  Driscoll  was  too 
busy  to  see  him. 

"  Sorry,  miss,  but  I  guess  I'm  as  busy  as  he  is. 
I  can't  come  again."  And  Foley  brushed  coolly  past 
her  and  entered  Mr.  Driscoll's  office. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Driscoll,"  he  said,  show 
ing  his  yellow  teeth  in  a  smile,  and  helping  himself 
to  a  chair.  "  Nice  afternoon,  ain't  it?  " 

Mr.  Driscoll  wheeled  angrily  about  in  his  chair. 
"  I  thought  I  sent  word  to  you  I  was  too  busy  to 
see  you?  " 

"  So  youse  did,  Mr.  Driscoll.     So  youse  did." 

"Well,  I  meant  it!"  He  turned  back  to  his 
desk. 

"  I  s'pose  so,"  Foley  said  cheerfully.  He  tilted 
back  easily  in  his  chair,  and  crossed  his  legs.  "  But, 
youse  see,  I  could  hardly  come  again,  an'  I  wanted 
very  much  to  see  youse." 

Mr.  Driscoll  looked  as  though  he  were  going 
to  explode.  But  fits  of  temper  at  a  thousand  dollars 
a  fit  were  a  relief  that  he  could  afford  only  now  and 
then.  He  kept  himself  in  hand,  though  the  effort 
it  cost  him  was  plain  to  Foley. 


FOLEY    PLAYS   WITH    MICE     63 

"  What  d'you  want  to  see  me  about?  Be  in  a 
hurry.  I'm  busy." 

The  point  of  Foley's  tongue  ran  gratified  between 
his  thin  lips,  as  his  eyes  took  in  every  squirm  of  this 
cornered  mouse.  "  In  the  first  place,  I  come  just 
in  a  social  way.  I  wanted  to  return  the  calls  youse 
made  on  me  last  week.  Youse  see,  I  been  studyin' 
up  etiquette.  Gettin'  ready  to  break  into  the  Four 
Hundred." 

"And  in  the  second  place?"  snapped  Mr.  Dris- 
coll. 

Foley  stepped  to  the  office  door,  closed  it,  and 
resumed  his  back-tilted  seat.  "  In  the  second  place, 
I  thought  I'd  like  to  talk  over  one  little  point  about 
the  St.  Etienne  job." 

Mr.  Driscoll  drew  a  check-book  out  of  a  pigeon 
hole  and  dipped  his  pen.  "  How  much  this  time?  " 

The  sarcasm  did  not  touch  Foley.  He  made  a 
wide  negative  sweep  with  his  right  arm.  '  What 
I'm  goin'  to  tell  youse  won't  cost  youse  a  cent.  It's 
as  free  as  religion."  The  point  of  red  again  slipped 
between  his  lips. 

"Well?— I  said  I  was  busy." 

"  Well,  here  it  is :  Don't  youse  think  youse  got  a 
pretty  bum  foreman  on  the  St.  Etienne  job?  " 

"  What  business  is  that  of  yours?  " 

"  Won't  youse  talk  in  a  little  more  of  a  Christian 
spirit,  Mr.  Driscoll?  " 

It  was  half  a  minute  before  Mr.  Driscoll  could 
speak  in  any  kind  of  a  spirit.  '*  Will  you  please  come 
to  the  point!  " 

"  Why,  I'm  there  already,"  the  walking  delegate 


64    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

returned  sweetly.  "  As  I  was  sayin',  don't  youse 
think  your  foreman  on  the  St.  Etienne  job  is  a  pretty 
bum  outfit?  " 

"  Keating? — I  never  had  a  better." 

u  D'youse  think  so?  Now  I  was  goin'  to  suggest, 
in  a  friendly  way,  that  youse  get  another  man  in  his 
place." 

"  Are  you  running  my  business,  or  am  I?  " 

"  If  youse'd  only  talk  with  a  little  more  Chris 
tian » 

The  eyes  clicked.  The  members  of  the  church  to 
which  Mr.  Driscoll  belonged  would  have  stuffed 
fingers  into  their  horrified  ears  at  the  language  in 
which  Foley  was  asked  to  go  to  a  place  that  was 
being  prepared  for  him. 

Foley  was  very  apologetic.  "  I'm  too  busy  now, 
an'  I  don't  get  my  vacation  till  August  Then 
youse  ain't  goin'  to  take  my  advice?  " 

"No!     I'm  not!" 

The  walking  delegate  stopped  purring.  He  leaned 
forward,  and  the  claws  pushed  themselves  from  out 
their  flesh-pads.  "  Let's  me  and  youse  make  a  little 
bet  on  that,  Mr.  Driscoll.  Shall  we  say  a  thousand 
aside?" 

Driscoll's  eyes  and  Foley's  battled  for  a  moment. 
"And  if  I  don't  do  it?"  queried  Mr.  Driscoll, 
abruptly. 

"  I  don't  like  to  disturb  youse  by  talkin'  about 
unpleasant  things.  It  would  be  too  bad  if  you  didn't 
do  it.  Youse  really  couldn't  afford  any  more  delays 
on  the  job,  could  youse?  " 

Mr.  Driscoll  made  no  reply. 


FOLEY    PLAYS   WITH    MICE     65 

Foley  stood  up,  again  purring.  "  It's  really  good 
advice,  ain't  it?  I'll  send  youse  round  a  good  man 
in  the  mornin'  to  take  his  place.  Good-by." 

As  Foley  passed  out  Mr.  Driscoll  savagely  brushed 
the  papers  before  him  to  one  side  of  his  desk,  crush 
ing  them  into  a  crumpled  heap,  and  sat  staring  into 
the  pigeon-holes.  He  sent  for  Mr.  Herman,  who 
after  delivering  an  opinion  in  favor  of  Foley's  prop 
osition,  departed  for  his  own  office,  pausing  for  a 
moment  to  lean  over  the  desk  of  the  fair  secretary. 
Presently,  with  a  great  gulp,  Mr.  Driscoll  touched 
a  button  on  his  desk  and  Miss  Arnold  appeared 
within  the  doorway.  She  was  slender,  but  not  too 
slender.  Her  heavy  brown  hair  was  parted  in  the 
middle  and  fell  over  either  end  of  her  low,  broad 
forehead.  The  face  was  sensitive,  sensible,  intel 
lectual.  Persons  chancing  into  Mr.  Driscoll's  office 
for  the  first  time  wondered  how  he  had  come  by  such 
a  secretary. 

"Miss  Arnold,  did  you  ever  see  a  jelly  fish?" 
he  demanded. 

44  Yes." 

44  Well,  here's  another." 

44  I  can't  say  I  see  much  family  resemblance," 
smiled  Miss  Arnold. 

44  It's  there,  all  right.    We  ain't  got  any  nerve." 

44  It  seems  to  me  you  are  riding  the  transmigration 
of  soul  theory  at  a  pretty  hard  pace,  Mr.  Driscoll. 
Yesterday,  when  you  upset  the  bottle  of  ink,  you  were 
a  bull  in  a  china  shop,  you  know." 

44  When  you  know  me  a  year  or  two  longer,  you'll 
know  I'm  several  sorts  of  dumb  animals.  But  I 


66    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

didn't  call  you  to  give  you  a  natural  history  lecture. 
Get  Duffy  on  the  'phone,  will  you,  and  tell  him  to 
send  Keating  around  as  soon  as  he  can.  Then  come 
in  and  take  some  letters  that  I  want  you  to  let  me 
have  just  as  quick  as  you  can  get  them  off." 

Two  hours  later  Tom  appeared  in  Miss  Arnold's 
office.  She  had  seen  him  two  or  three  times  when  he 
had  come  in  on  business,  and  had  been  struck  by  his 
square,  open  face  and  his  confident  bearing.  She 
now  greeted  him  with  a  slight  smile.  "  Mr.  Dris- 
coll  is  waiting  for  you,"  she  said;  and  sent  him 
straight  on  through  the  next  door. 

Mr.  Driscoll  asked  Tom  to  be  seated  and  con 
tinued  to  hold  his  bulging  eyes  on  a  sheet  of  paper 
which  he  scratched  with  a  pencil.  Tom,  with  a  sense 
of  impending  disaster,  sat  waiting  for  his  employer  to 
speak. 

At  length  Mr.  Driscoll  wheeled  about  abruptly. 
"  What  d'you  think  of  Foley?  " 

"  I've  known  worse  men,"  Tom  answered,  on  his 
guard. 

"  You  must  have  been  in  hell,  then !  You  think 
better  of  him  than  I  do.  And  better  than  he  thinks 
of  you.  He's  just  been  in  to  see  me.  He  wants  me 
to  fire  you." 

Tom  had  half-guessed  this  from  the  moment  Duffy- 
had  told  him  Mr.  Driscoll  wanted  him,  but  neverthe 
less  he  was  startled  by  its  announcement  in  words. 
He  let  several  seconds  pass,  the  while  he  got  hold  of 
himself,  then  asked  in  a  hard  voice :  "  And  what 
are  you  going  to  do?  " 

Mr.  Driscoll  knew  what  he  was  going  to  do,  but 


FOLEY    PLAYS   WITH    MICE     67 

his  temper  insisted  on  gratification  before  he  told  his 
plan.  "  What  can  I  do?  "  he  demanded  testily.  "It's 
your  fault — the  union's  fault.  And  I  don't  have  any 
sympathy  to  waste  for  anything  that  happens  to  any 
of  you.  Why  don't  you  put  a  decent  man  in  as  your 
business  agent?  " 

Tom  passed  all  this  by.  "  So  you're  going  to  fire 
me?" 

"  What  else  can  I  do?  "  Mr.  Driscoll  reiterated. 

"  Hasn't  my  work  been  satisfactory?  " 

;<  It  isn't  a  question  of  work.  If  it's  any  satis 
faction  to  you,  I'll  say  that  I  never  had  a  foreman 
that  got  as  much  or  as  good  work  out  of  the  men." 

'  Then  you're  firing  me  because  Foley  orders  you 
to?  "  There  were  both  pity  and  indignation  in  Tom's 
voice. 

Mr.  Driscoll  had  expected  to  put  his  foreman  on 
the  defensive;  instead,  he  found  himself  getting  on 
that  side.  "  If  you  want  it  right  out,  that's  it.  But 
what  can  I  do?  I'm  held  up." 

"  Do?  "  Tom  stood  up  before  his  employer,  neck 
and  face  red,  eyes  flashing.  "  Why,  fight  him !  " 

"  I've   tried  that  " — sarcastically — "  thanks." 

"  That's  what's  the  matter  with  you  bosses !  You 
think  more  of  dollars  than  you  do  of  self-respect!  " 

Mr.  Driscoll  trembled.  '  Young  man,  d'you  know 
who  you're  talking  to?  " 

"  I  do!"  Tom  cried  hotly.  "  To  the  man  who's 
firing  me  because  he's  too  cowardly  to  stand  up  for 
what's  right!  " 

Mr.  Driscoll  glared,  his  eyes  clicked.  Then  he 
gave  a  great  swallow.  "  I  guess  you're  about  right. 


68    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

But  if  I  understand  the  situation,  I  guess  there's  a 
lot  of  men  in  your  union  that'd  rather  hold  their  jobs 
than  stand  up  for  what's  right." 

Tom,  in  his  turn,  had  his  fires  drawn.  "  And  I 
guess  you're  about  right,  too,"  he  had  to  admit. 

"  I  may  be  a  coward,"  Mr.  Driscoll  went  on,  "  but 
if  a  man  puts  a  gun  to  my  head  and  says  he'll  pull 
the  trigger  unless  I  do  what  he  says,  I've  got  to  do  it, 
that's  all.  And  I  rather  guess  you  would,  too.  But 
let's  pass  this  by.  I've  got  a  plan.  Foley  can  make 
me  put  you  off  one  job,  but  he  can't  make  me  fire  you. 
Let's  see;  I'm  paying  you  thirty  a  week,  ain't  I?  " 

"  That's  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  give  you  thirty-five  a  week 
and  put  you  to  work  in  the  shop  as  a  superintendent. 
Foley  can't  touch  you  there, — or  me  either.  Isn't 
that  all  right?  "  Mr.  Driscoll  wore  a  look  of  half 
hearted  triumph. 

Tom  had  regarded  Mr.  Driscoll  so  long  with  dis 
like  that  even  this  proposal,  apparently  uttered  in 
good  faith,  made  him  suspicious.  He  began  to  search 
for  a  hidden  motive. 

"Well?"  queried  Mr.  Driscoll  impatiently. 

He  could  find  no  dishonest  motive.  "  But  if  I 
took  the  job  I'd  have  to  go  out  of  the  union,"  he  said 
finally. 

"  It  oughtn't  break  your  heart  to  quit  Foley's  com 
pany." 

Tom  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  medita 
tively  into  the  street.  Mr.  Driscoll's  offer  was  tempt 
ing.  It  was  full  of  possibilities  that  appealed  to  his 
ambition.  He  was  confident  of  his  ability  to  fill  this 


FOLEY   PLAYS   WITH   MICK     69 

position,  and  was  confident  that  he  would  develop 
capacity  to  fill  higher  positions.  This  chance  would 
prove  the  first  of  a  series  of  opportunities  that  would 
lead  him  higher  and  higher, — perhaps  even  to  Mr. 
Driscoll's  own  desk.  He  knew  he  had  it  in  him. 
And  the  comfort,  even  the  little  luxuries,  the  broader 
opportunities  for  self-development  that  would  be  his, 
all  appealed  to  him.  And  he  was  aware  of  the  joy 
this  new  career  would  give  to  Maggie.  But  to  leave 
the  union — to  give  up  the  fight 

He  turned  back  to  Mr.  Driscoll.     "  I  can't  do  it." 

"  What!  "  cried  the  contractor  in  amazement. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  Tom  repeated. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you're  throwing  away?  If 
you  turned  out  well,  and  I  know  you  would,  why 
there'd  be  no  end  of  chances  for  advancement. 
I've  got  a  lot  of  weak  men  on  my  pay-roll." 

"  I  understand  the  chance,  Mr.  Driscoll.  But  I 
can't  take  it.  Do  you  know  why  Foley's  got  it  in  for 
me?" 

"  He  don't  like  you,  I  suppose." 

"  Because  he's  found  out,  somehow,  that  I've  begun 
a  fight  on  him,  and  am  going  to  try  to  put  him  out  of 
business.  If  I  take  this  job,  I've  got  to  drop  the 
fight.  And  I'll  never  do  that!  "  Tom  was  warm 
ing  up  again.  u  Do  you  know  the  sort  Foley  is? 
I  suppose  you  know  he's  a  grafter?  " 

"  Yes.     So  does  my  pocket-book." 

"  And  so  does  his  pocket-book.  His  grafting  alone 
is  enough  to  fight  him  on.  But  there's  the  way  he 
treats  the  union!  You  know  what  he's  done  to  me. 
Well,  he's  done  that  to  a  lot  of  others.  He's  got 


70    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

some  of  us  scared  so  we're  afraid  to  breathe.  And 
the  union's  just  his  machine.  Now  d'you  suppose  I'm 
going  to  quit  the  union  in  that  shape?  "  He  brought 
his  big  red  fist  thundering  down  on  the  desk  before 
Mr.  Driscoll.  "  No,  by  God !  I'm  going  to  stick 
by  the  boys.  I've  got  a  few  hundred  saved.  They'll 
last  me  a  while,  if  I  can't  get  another  job.  And  I'm 
going  to  fight  that  damned  skate  till  one  of  us 
drops !  " 

Miss  Arnold  had  come  in  the  moment  before  with 
letters  for  Mr.  Driscoll's  signature,  and  had  stood 
through  Tom's  outburst.  She  now  handed  the  let 
ters  to  Mr.  Driscoll,  and  Tom  for  the  first  time 
noticed  her  presence.  It  struck  him  full  of  confusion. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  miss.  I  didn't  know  you  were 
here.  I — I  hope  you  didn't  mind  what  I  said." 

"  If  Miss  Arnold  objects  to  what  you  said,  I'll 
fire  her!  "  put  in  Mr.  Driscoll. 

The  secretary  looked  with  hardly-concealed  admi 
ration  at  Tom,  still  splendid  in  the  dying  glow  of  his 
defiant  wrath.  "  If  I  objected,  I'd  deserve  to  be 
fired,"  she  said.  Then  she  added,  smiling:  "  You 
may  say  it  again  if  you  like." 

After  Miss  Arnold  had  gone  out  Mr.  Driscoll 
looked  at  Tom  with  blinking  eyes.  "  I  suppose  you 
think  you're  some  sort  of  a  hero,"  he  growled. 

Tom's  sudden  confusion  had  collapsed  his  indig 
nation.  "  No,  I'm  a  man  looking  for  a  job,"  he 
returned,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you  didn't  take  the  job  I  offered 
you.  I  can't  afford  to  let  fools  help  manage  my 
business." 


FOLEY   PLAYS  WITH   MICE     71 

Tom  took  his  hat.  "  I  suppose  this  is  all,"  he 
said  and  started  for  the  door. 

"Hold  on!"  Mr.  Driscoll  stood  up.  "  Why 
don't  you  shake  hands  with  a  man,  like  a  gentleman? 
There.  That's  the  stuff.  I  want  to  say  to  you, 
Keating,  that  I  think  you're  just  about  all  right.  If 
ever  you  want  a  job  with  me,  just  come  around  and 
say  so  and  I'll  give  you  one  if  I  have  to  fire  myself 
to  make  a  place  for  you.  And  if  your  money  gives 
out,  or  you  need  some  to  use  in  your  fight,  why  I  ain't 
throwing  much  away  these  days,  but  you  can  get  all 
you  want  by  asking  for  it." 


Chapter  VII 
GETTING    THE    MEN    IN    LINE 

DIS   dismissal  had  been   one  of  the   risks 
Tom  had  accepted  when  he  had  decided 
upon  war,  and  though  he  felt  it  keenly 
now  that  it  had  come,  yet  its  chief  effect 
was   to   intensify   his   resolution   to   overturn    Buck 
Foley.     He  strode  on  block  after  block,  with  his 
long,   powerful   steps,    his   resolution   gripping   him 
fiercer  and  fiercer, — till  the  thought  leaped  into  his 
mind:  "  I've  got  to  tell  Maggie." 

He  stopped  as  though  a  cold  hand  had  been  laid 
against  his  heart;  then  walked  on  more  slowly,  con 
sidering  how  he  should  give  the  news  to  her.  His 
first  thought  was  to  say  nothing  of  his  dismissal  for 
a  few  days.  By  then  he  might  have  found  another 
job,  and  the  telling  that  he  had  lost  one  would  be  an 
easy  matter.  But  his  second  thought  was  that  she 
would  doubtless  learn  the  news  from  some  of  her 
friends,  and  would  use  her  tongue  all  the  more  freely 
because  of  his  attempt  at  concealment;  and,  further 
more,  he  would  be  in  the  somewhat  inglorious  posi 
tion  of  the  man  who  has  been  found  out.  He  de 
cided  to  have  done  with  it  at  once. 

When  he  entered  his  flat  Maggie  looked  up  in 
surprise  from  the  tidy  on  which  she  was  working. 

72 


GETTING   THE   MEN   IN   LINE    73 

"What!  home  already!"  Then  she  noticed  his 
face.  "Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

Tom  drew  off  his  overcoat  and  threw  it  upon  the 
couch.  "  I've  been  fired." 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.     "  Fired!  " 

"  Yes."  He  sat  down,  determined  to  get  through 
with  the  scene  as  quickly  as  possible. 

For  the  better  part  of  a  minute  she  could  not 
speak.  "Fired?  \Vhat  for?"  she  articulated. 

"  It's   Foley's  work.     He   ordered   Driscoll   to." 

"  You've  been  talking  about  Foley  some  more, 
then?" 

"  I  have." 

Tom  saw  what  he  had  feared,  a  hard,  accusing 
look  spread  itself  over  her  face.  "  And  you've  done 
that,  Tom  Keating,  after  what  I,  your  wife,  said  to 
you  only  last  week?  I  told  you  what  would  happen. 
I  told  you  Foley  would  make  us  suffer.  I  told  you 
not  to  talk  again,  and  you've  gone  and  done  it!  " 
The  words  came  out  slowly,  sharply,  as  though  it 
were  her  desire  to  thrust  them  into  him  one  by  one. 

Tom  began  to  harden,  as  she  had  hardened.  But 
at  least  he  would  give  her  the  chance  to  understand 
him.  "  You  know  what  Foley's  like.  You  know 
some  of  the  things  he's  done.  Well,  I've  made  up 
my  mind  that  we  oughtn't  to  stand  him  any  longer. 
I'm  going  to  do  what  I  can  to  drive  him  out  of  the 
union." 

"And  you've  been  talking  this?"  she  cut  in. 
"  Oh,  of  course  you  have!  No  wonder  he  got  you 
fired!  Oh,  my  God!  I  see  it  all.  And  you,  you 
never  thought  once  of  your  wife  or  your  child!  " 


74    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  I  did,  and  you'll  see  when  I  tell  you  all,"  Tom 
said  harshly.  u  But  would  you  have  me  stand  for 
all  the  dirty  things  he  does?  " 

"  Couldn't  you  keep  out  of  his  way — as  I  asked 
you  to?  Because  a  wolf's  a  wolf,  that's  no  reason 
why  you  should  jump  in  his  mouth." 

"  It  is  if  you  can  do  him  up.  And  I'm  going  to 
do  Foley  up.  I'm  going  to  run  against  him  as  walk 
ing  delegate.  The  situation  ain't  so  bad  as  you 
think,"  he  went  on,  with  a  weak  effort  to  appease  her. 
'  You  think  things  look  dark,  but  they're  going  to 
be  brighter  than  they  ever  were.  I'll  get  another 
job  soon,  and  after  the  first  of  March  I'll  be  walking 
delegate.  I'm  going  to  beat  Buck  Foley,  sure !  " 

For  a  moment  the  vision  of  an  even  greater  eleva 
tion  than  the  one  from  which  they  were  falling  made 
her  forget  her  bitter  wrath.  Then  it  flooded  back 
upon  her,  and  she  put  it  all  into  a  laugh.  "  You 
beat  Buck  Foley !  Oh,  my !  " 

Her  ireful  words  he  had  borne  with  outward 
calm;  he  had  learned  they  were  borne  more  easily,  if 
borne  calmly.  But  her  sneering  disbelief  in  him  was 
too  much.  He  sprang  up,  his  wrath  tugging  at  its 
leash.  She,  too,  came  to  her  feet,  and  stood  facing 
him,  hands  clenched,  breast  heaving,  sneering,  sob 
bing.  Her  words  tumbled  out. 

"  Oh,  you !  you  !  Brighter  days,  you  say.  Ha ! 
ha!  You  beat  Buck  Foley?  Yes,  I  know  how! 
Buck  Foley  '11  not  let  you  get  a  job  in  your  trade. 
You'll  have  to  take  up  some  other  work — if  you 
can  get  it!  Begin  all  over!  We'll  grow  poorer 
and  poorer.  We'll  have  to  eat  anything.  I'll  have 


GETTING   THE   MEN   IN   LINE    75 

to  wear  rags.  Just  when  we  were  getting  comfort 
able.  And  all  because  you  wouldn't  pay  any  atten 
tion  to  what  I  said.  Because  you  were  such  a 
fo-o-ol!  Oh,  my  God!  My  God!" 

As  she  went  on  her  voice  rose  to  a  scream,  broken 
by  gasps  and  sobs.  At  the  end  she  passionately 
jerked  Tom's  coat  and  hat  from  the  couch  and  threw 
herself  upon  it — and  the  frenzied  words  tumbled  on, 
and  on. 

Tom  looked  down  upon  her  a  moment,  quivering 
with  wrath  and  a  nameless  sickness.  Then  he  picked 
up  hat  and  coat,  and  glancing  at  Ferdinand,  who  had 
shrunk  terrified  into  a  corner,  walked  quickly  out  of 
the  flat. 

He  strode  about  the  streets  awhile,  had  dinner 
in  a  restaurant,  and  then,  as  Wednesday  was  the 
union's  meeting  night,  he  went  to  Potomac  Hall.  It 
fell  out  that  he  met  Pete  and  Barry  entering  as  he 
came  up. 

"  I  guess  you'll  have  another  foreman  to-morrow, 
boys,"  he  announced;  and  he  briefly  told  them  of  his 
discharge. 

"  It'll  be  us  next,   Rivet  Head,"  said  Pete. 

Barry  nodded,  his  face  pale. 

All  the  men  in  the  hall  learned  that  evening  what 
had  happened  to  Tom,  some  from  his  friends,  more 
from  Foley's  friends.  And  the  manner  of  the  lat- 
ter's  telling  was  a  warning  to  every  listener.  "  D'you 
hear  Keating  has  been  fired?"  "Fired?  No. 
What  for?"  A  wise  wink:  "Well,  he's  been  talk- 
in'  about  Foley,  you  know." 

Tom  grew  hot  under,  but  ignored,  the  open  jeer- 


76    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

ing  of  the  Foleyites.  The  sympathy  of  his  friends 
he  answered  with  a  quiet,  but  ominous,  "  Just  you 
wait!  "  There  were  few  present  of  the  men  he  had 
counted  on  seeing,  and  soon  after  the  meeting  ended, 
which  was  unusually  early,  he  started  home. 

It  was  after  ten  when  he  came  in.  Maggie  sat 
working  at  the  tidy;  she  did  not  look  up  or  speak; 
her  passion  had  settled  into  resentful  obstinacy,  and 
that,  he  knew  from  experience,  only  time  could  over 
come.  He  had  not  the  least  desire  to  assist  time  in 
its  work  of  subjection,  and  passed  straight  into  their 
bedroom. 

Tom  felt  her  sustained  resentment,  as  indeed  he 
could  not  help ;  but  he  did  not  feel  that  which  was  the 
first  cause  of  the  resentment — her  lack  of  sympa 
thetic  understanding  of  him.  At  twenty-three  he 
had  come  into  a  man's  wages,  and  Maggie's  was  the 
first  pretty  face  he  had  seen  after  that.  The  novelty 
of  their  married  life  had  soon  worn  off,  and  with  the 
development  of  his  stronger  qualities  and  of  her 
worst  ones,  it  had  gradually  come  about  that  the 
only  thoughts  they  shared  were  those  concerning 
their  common  existence  in  their  home.  Tom  had 
long  since  become  accustomed  to  carrying  his  real 
ideas  to  other  ears.  And  so  he  did  not  now  con 
sciously  miss  wifely  sympathy  with  his  efforts. 

There  was  no  break  the  next  morning  in  Maggie's 
sullen  resentment.  After  an  almost  wordless  break 
fast  Tom  set  forth  to  look  for  another  job.  An 
opening  presented  itself  at  the  first  place  he  called. 
'  Yes,  it  happens  we  do  need  a  foreman,"  said  the 
contractor.  "  What  experience  have  you  had?  " 


GETTING   THE   MEN   IN   LINE    77 

Tom  gave  an  outline  of  his  course  in  his  trade, 
dwelling  on  the  last  two  years  and  a  half  that  he  had 
been  a  foreman. 

"  Urn, — yes.  That  sounds  very  good.  You  say 
you  worked  last  for  Driscoll  on  the  St.  Etiennc 
job?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  mind  telling  why  you  left? 
Driscoll  hasn't  finished  that  job  yet." 

Tom  briefly  related  the  circumstances. 

"  So  you're  out  with  Foley."  The  contractor 
shook  his  head.  "  Sorry.  We  need  a  man,  and  I 
guess  you're  a  good  one.  But  if  Foley  did  that  to 
Driscoll,  he'll  do  the  same  to  me.  I  can't  afford  to 
be  mixed  up  in  any  trouble  with  him." 

This  conversation  was  a  more  or  less  accurate 
pattern  of  many  that  followed  on  this  and  succeeding 
days.  Tom  called  on  every  contractor  of  impor 
tance  doing  steel  construction  work.  None  of  them 
cared  to  risk  trouble  with  Foley,  and  so  Tom  con 
tinued  walking  the  streets. 

One  contractor — the  man  for  whom  he  had 
worked  before  he  went  on  the  St.  Etienne  job — 
offered  Tom  what  he  called  some  "  business  advice." 
"  I'm  a  pretty  good  friend  of  yours,  Keating,  for 
I've  found  you  all  on  the  level.  The  trouble  with 
you  is,  when  you  see  a  stone  wall  you  think  it  was  put 
there  to  butt  your  head  against.  Now,  I'm  older 
than  you  are,  and  had  a  lot  more  experience,  and  let 
me  tell  you  it's  a  lot  easier,  and  a  lot  quicker,  when 
you  see  trouble  across  your  path  like  a  stone  wall,  to 
go  round  it  than  it  is  to  try  to  butt  it  out  of  your  way. 


78    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

Stop  butting  against  Foley.  Make  up  with  him,  or 
go  to  some  other  city.  Go  round  him." 

In  the  meantime  Tom  was  busy  with  his  campaign 
against  Foley.  He  was  discharged  on  the  four 
teenth  of  February;  the  election  came  on  the  seventh 
of  March;  only  three  weeks,  so  haste  was  neces 
sary.  On  the  days  he  was  tramping  about  for  a 
job  he  met  many  members  of  the  union  also  looking 
for  work,  and  to  these  he  talked  wherever  he  found 
them.  And  every  night  he  was  out  talking  to  the 
men,  in  the  streets,  in  saloons,  in  their  own  homes. 

The  problem  of  his  campaign  was  a  simple  one — 
to  get  at  least  five  hundred  of  the  three  thousand 
members  of  the  union  to  come  to  the  hall  on  election 
night  and  cast  their  votes  against  Foley.  His  cam 
paign,  therefore,  could  have  no  spectacular  methods 
and  no  spectacular  features.  Hard,  persistent  work, 
night  after  night — that  was  all. 

On  the  evening  after  the  meeting  and  on  the  fol 
lowing  evening  Tom  had  talks  with  several  leading 
men  in  the  union.  A  few  joined  in  his  plan  with 
spirit.  But  most  that  he  saw  held  back;  they  were 
willing  to  help  him  in  secret,  but  they  feared  the 
result  of  an  open  espousal  of  his  cause.  There 
were  only  a  dozen  men,  including  Barry  and  Pete, 
who  were  willing  to  go  the  whole  way  with  him,  and 
these  he  formed  loosely  into  a  campaign  committee. 
They  held  a  caucus  and  nominations  for  all  offices 
were  made,  Tom  being  chosen  to  run  for  walking 
delegate  and  president.  The  presidency  was  unsal- 
aried,  and  during  Foley's  regime  had  become  an 
office  of  only  nominal  importance;  all  real  power  that 


GETTING   THE    MEN   IN   LINE    79 

had  ever  belonged  to  the  position  had  been  gradually 
absorbed  by  the  office  of  walking  delegate.  At  the 
meeting  on  the  twenty-first  Tom's  ticket  was  formally 
presented  to  the  union,  as  was  also  Foley's. 

Even  before  this  the  dozen  were  busy  with  a  can 
vass  of  the  union.  The  members  agreed  heartily  to 
the  plan  of  demanding  an  increase  in  wages,  for  they 
had  long  been  dissatisfied  with  the  present  scale. 
But  to  come  out  against  Foley,  that  was  another  mat 
ter.  Tom  found,  as  he  had  expected,  that  his  argu 
ments  had  to  be  directed,  not  at  convincing  the  men 
that  Foley  was  bad,  but  at  convincing  them  it  was 
safe  to  oppose  him.  Reformers  are  accustomed  to 
explain  their  failure  by  saying  they  cannot  arouse 
the  respectable  element  to  come  out  and  vote  against 
corruption.  They  would  find  that  even  fewer  would 
come  to  the  polls  if  the  voters  thereby  endangered 
their  jobs. 

The  answers  of  the  men  in  almost  all  cases  were 
the  same. 

;'  If  I  was  sure  I  wouldn't  lose  my  job,  I'd  vote 
against  Foley  in  a  minute.  But  you  know  well 
enough,  Tom,  that  we  have  a  hard  enough  time 
getting  on  now.  Where'd  we  be  if  Foley  black 
listed  us?" 

"  But  there's  no  danger  at  all,  if  enough  of  us 
come  out,"  Tom  would  reply.  "  We  can't  lose." 

u  But  you  can't  count  on  the  boys  coming  out. 
And  if  we  lose,  Foley  '11  make  us  all  smart.  He'll 
manage  to  find  out  every  man  that  voted  against 
him." 

Here  was  the  place  in  which  the  guarantee  he  had 


8o    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

sought  from  Mr.  Baxter  would  fit  in.  Impelled  by 
knowledge  of  the  great  value  of  this  guarantee,  Tom 
went  to  see  the  big  contractor  a  few  days  after  his 
first  visit.  The  uniform  traveled  down  the  alley 
between  the  offices  and  brought  back  word  that  Mr. 
Baxter  was  not  in.  Tom  called  again  and  again. 
Mr.  Baxter  was  always  out.  Tom  was  sorely  dis 
appointed  by  his  failure  to  get  the  guarantee,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  make  the  best  of  it; 
and  so  he  and  his  friends  went  on  tirelessly  with  their 
nightly  canvassing. 

The  days,  of  course,  Tom  continued  to  spend  in 
looking  for  work.  In  wandering  from  contractor 
to  contractor  he  frequently  passed  the  building  in 
which  was  located  the  office  of  Driscoll  &  Co. ;  and,  a 
week  after  his  discharge,  as  he  was  going  by  near 
one  o'clock,  it  chanced  Miss  Arnold  was  coming 
into  the  street.  They  saw  each  other  in  the  same 
instant.  Tom,  with  his  natural  diffidence  at  meeting 
strange  women,  was  for  passing  her  by  with  a  lift  of 
his  hat.  "  Why,  Mr.  Keating!"  she  cried,  with 
a  little  smile,  and  as  they  held  the  same  direction  he 
could  but  fall  into  step  with  her. 

"  What's  the  latest  war  news?  "  she  asked. 

"  One  man  still  out  of  a  job,"  he  answered,  taking 
refuge  in  an  attempt  at  lightness.  "  No  actual  con 
flict  yet.  I'm  busy  massing  my  forces.  So  far  I 
have  one  man  together — myself." 

1  You  ought  to  find  that  a  loyal  army."  She  was 
silent  for  a  dozen  paces,  then  asked  impulsively: 
"  Have  you  had  lunch  yet?  " 

Tom  threw  a  surprised  look  down  upon  her,  "  Yes, 


GETTING   THE    MEN   IN   LINE    81 

Twelve  o'clock's  our  noon  hour.  We  men  arc  used 
to  having  our  lunch  then." 

"  I  thought  if  you  hadn't  we  might  have  lunched 
in  the  same  place,"  she  hastened  to  explain,  with  a 
slight  flush  of  embarrassment.  "  I  wanted  to  ask 
you  some  questions.  You  see,  since  I've  been  in 
New  York  I've  been  in  a  way  thrown  in  contact 
with  labor  unions.  I've  read  a  great  deal  on  both 
sides.  But  the  only  persons  I've  had  a  chance  to 
talk  to  have  all  been  on  the  employers'  side, — per 
sons  like  Mr.  Driscoll  and  my  uncle,  Mr.  Baxter." 

"  Baxter,  the  contractor — Baxter  &  Co.?  " 

44  Yes." 

Tom  wondered  what  necessity  had  forced  the 
niece  of  so  rich  a  man  as  Mr.  Baxter  to  earn  her 
living  as  a  stenographer. 

u  I've  often  wanted  to  talk  with  some  trade  union 
man,  but  I've  never  had  the  chance.  I  thought  you 
might  tell  me  some  of  the  things  I  want  to  know." 

The  note  of  sincere  disappointment  in  Miss 
Arnold's  voice  brought  a  suggestion  to  Tom's  mind 
that  both  embarrassed  and  attracted.  He  was  not 
accustomed  to  the  society  of  women  of  Miss  Arnold's 
sort,  whose  order  of  life  had  been  altogether  different 
from  his  own,  and  the  idea  of  an  hour  alone  with  her 
filled  him  with  a  certain  confusion.  But  her  freshness 
and  her  desire  to  know  more  of  the  subject  that  was 
his  whole  life  allured  him;  and  his  interest  was 
stronger  than  his  embarrassment.  "  For  that  mat 
ter,  I'm  not  busy,  as  you  know.  If  you  would  like 
it,  I  can  talk  to  you  while  you  eat." 

For  the  next  hour  they  sat  face  to  face  in  the  quiet 


82    THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

little  restaurant  to  which  Miss  Arnold  had  led  the 
way.  The  other  patrons  found  themselves  looking 
over  at  the  table  in  the  corner,  and  wondering  what 
common  subject  could  so  engross  the  refined  young 
woman  in  the  tailored  gown  and  the  man  in  ill-fitting 
clothes,  with  big  red  hands,  red  neck  and  crude, 
square  face.  For  their  part  these  two  were  uncon 
scious  of  the  wondering  eyes  upon  them.  With  a 
query  now  and  then  from  Miss  Arnold,  Tom  spirit 
edly  presented  the  union  side  of  mooted  questions 
of  the  day, — ^the  open  shop,  the  strike,  the  sympa 
thetic  strike,  the  boycott.  The  things  Miss  Arnold 
had  read  had  dealt  coldly  with  the  moral  and  eco 
nomic  principles  involved  in  these  questions.  Tom 
spoke  in  human  terms ;  he  showed  how  every  point 
affected  living  men,  and  women,  and  children.  The 
difference  was  the  difference  between  a  treatise  and 
life. 

Miss  Arnold  was  impressed, — not  alone  by  what 
Tom  said,  but  by  the  man  himself.  The  first  two  or 
three  times  she  had  seen  him,  on  his  brief  visits  to 
the  office,  she  had  been  struck  only  by  a  vague  big 
ness — a  bigness  that  was  not  so  much  of  figure  as 
of  bearing.  On  his  last  visit  she  had  been  struck 
by  his  bold  spirit.  She  now  discovered  the  crude, 
rugged  strength  of  the  man :  he  had  thought  much ; 
he  felt  deeply;  he  believed  in  the  justice  of  his  cause; 
he  was  willing,  if  the  need  might  be,  to  suffer  for 
his  beliefs.  And  he  spoke  well,  for  his  sentences, 
though  not  always  grammatical,  were  always  vital. 
He  seemed  to  present  the  very  heart  of  a  thing,  and 
let  it  throb  before  the  eyes. 


GETTING   THE   MEN   IN   LINE    83 

When  they  were  in  the  street  again  and  about  to 
go  their  separate  ways,  Miss  Arnold  asked,  with  im 
pulsive  interest :  "  Won't  you  talk  to  me  again  about 
these  things — some  time?  " 

Tom,  glowing  with  the  excitement  of  his  own 
words  and  of  her  sympathetic  listening,  promised. 
It  was  finally  settled  that  he  should  call  the  following 
Sunday  afternoon. 

Back  at  her  desk,  Miss  Arnold  fell  to  wondering 
what  sort  of  man  Tom  would  be  had  he  had  four 
years  at  a  university,  and  had  his  life  been  thrown 
among  people  of  cultivation.  His  power,  plus  these 
advantages,  would  have  made  him — something  big, 
to  say  the  least.  But  had  he  gone  to  college  he 
would  not  now  be  in  a  trade  union.  And  in  a  trade 
union,  Miss  Arnold  admitted  to  herself,  was  where 
he  was  needed,  and  where  he  belonged. 

Tom  went  on  his  way  in  the  elation  that  comes  of 
a  new  and  gratifying  experience.  He  had  never 
before  had  so  keen  and  sympathetic  a  listener.  And 
never  before  had  he  had  speech  with  a  woman  of 
Miss  Arnold's  type — educated,  thoughtful,  of  broad 
interests.  Most  of  the  women  he  had  known  neces 
sity  had  made  into  household  drudges — tired  and 
uninteresting,  whose  few  thoughts  rarely  ranged  far 
from  home.  Miss  Arnold  was  a  discovery  to  him. 
Deep  down  in  his  consciousness  was  a  distinct  sur 
prise  that  a  woman  should  be  interested  in  the  big 
things  of  the  outside  world. 

He  was  fairly  jerked  out  of  his  elation,  when,  on 
turning  a  corner,  he  met  Foley  face  to  face  in  front 
of  a  skyscraper  that  was  going  up  in  lower  Broad- 


84    THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

way.  It  was  their  first  meeting  since  Foley  had 
tried  to  have  grim  sport  out  of  him  on  the  St. 
Etienne  Hotel. 

Foley  planted  himself  squarely  across  Tom's  path. 
"Hello,  Keating!  How're  youse?  Where  youse 
workin'  now?  " 

The  sneering  good-fellowship  in  Foley's  voice  set 
Tom's  blood  a-tingling.  But  he  tried  to  step  to  one 
side  and  pass  on.  Again  Foley  blocked  his  way. 

"  I  understand  youse  're  goin'  to  be  the  next 
walkin'  delegate  o'  the  union.  That's  nice.  I  s'pose 
these  days  youse  're  trainin'  your  legs  for  the  job?  " 

"  See  here,  Buck  Foley,  are  you  looking  for  a 
fight?  If  you  are,  come  around  to  some  quiet  place 
and  I'll  mix  it  up  with  you  all  you  want." 

"  I  don't  fight  a  man  till  he  gets  in  my  class." 

"If  you  don't  want  to  fight,  then  get  out  of  my 
way!" 

With  that  Tom  stepped  forward  quickly  and 
butted  his  hunched-out  right  shoulder  against  Foley's 
left.  Foley,  unprepared,  swung  round  as  though 
on  a  pivot.  Tom  brushed  by  and  continued  on  his 
way  with  unturned  head. 

Again  the  walking  delegate  proved  that  he  could 
swear. 


Chapter  VIII 
THE    COWARD 

days  before  his  meeting  with  Miss 
Arnold  Tom  had  been  convinced  that 
any  more  time  was  wasted  that  was  spent 
in  looking  for  a  job  as  foreman.  He 
had  before  him  the  choice  of  being  idle  or  work 
ing  in  the  gang.  He  disliked  to  do  the  latter, 
regarding  it  as  a  professional  relapse.  But  he  was 
unwilling  to  draw  upon  his  savings,  if  that  could  be 
avoided,  so  he  decided  to  go  back  into  the  ranks. 
The  previous  evening  he  had  heard  of  three  new  jobs 
that  were  being  started.  The  contractors  on  two  of 
them  he  had  seen  during  the  morning;  and  after 
his  encounter  with  Foley  he  set  out  to  interview  the 
third.  The  contractor  was  an  employer  of  the  smallest 
consequence — a  florid  man  with  little  cunning  eyes. 
u  Yes,  I  do  need  some  men,"  he  replied  to  Tom's 
inquiry.  "  How  much  d'you  want?  " 

"  Three  seventy-five  a  day,  the  regular  rate." 

The  contractor  shook  his  head.  "  Too  much.  I 
can  only  pay  three." 

u  But  you  signed  an  agreement  to  pay  the  full 
rate!  "  Tom  cried. 

"  Oh,  a  man  signs  a  lot  o'  things." 

Tom  was  about  to  turn  away,  when  his  curiosity 
got  the  better  of  his  disgust.  For  a  union  man  to 
work  under  the  scale  was  an  offense  against  the 

85 


86    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

union.  For  an  employer  to  pay  under  the  scale  was 
an  offense  against  the  employers'  association.  Tom 
decided  to  draw  the  contractor  out.  "  Well,  sup 
pose  I  go  to  work  at  three  dollars,  how  do  we  keep 
from  being  discovered?  "  he  asked. 

The  little  eyes  gleamed  with  appreciation  of  their 
small  cunning.  "  I  make  this  agreement  with  all 
my  men :  You  get  the  full  amount  in  your  envelope 
Saturday.  Anybody  that  sees  you  open  your  envel 
ope  sees  that  you're  gettin'  full  scale.  Then  you 
hand  me  back  four-fifty  later.  That's  for  money  I 
advanced  you  durin'  the  week.  D'you  understand?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Tom.  "  But  I'm  no  three  dollar 
man!" 

**  Hold  on!  "  the  contractor  cried  to  Tom's  back. 
His  cunning  told  him  in  an  instant  that  he  had  made 
a  mistake;  that  this  man,  if  let  go,  might  make  trou 
ble.  "  I  was  just  foolin'  you.  Of  course,  I'll  pay 
you  full  rate." 

Tom  knew  the  man  was  lying,  but  he  had  no  real 
proof  that  the  contractor  was  breaking  faith  both 
with  the  union  and  his  fellow  employers;  so,  as  he 
needed  the  money,  he  took  the  offered  position  and 
went  to  work  the  next  morning.  The  job  was  a  fire- 
engine  house  just  being  started  on  the  upper  west 
side  of  the  island.  The  isolation  of  the  job  and  the 
insignificance  of  the  contractor  made  Tom  feel  there 
was  a  chance  Foley  might  overlook  him  for  the  next 
two  weeks. 

On  the  following  Saturday  morning  three  new 
men  began  work  on  the  job.  One  of  them  Tom  was 
certain  he  knew — a  tall,  lank  fellow,  chiefly  knobs 


THE    COWARD  87 

and  angles,  with  wide,  drooping  shoulders  and  a  big 
yellow  mustache.  Tom  left  his  place  at  the  crane 
of  the  jimmy  derrick  and  ran  down  a  plank  into  the 
basement  to  where  this  man  and  four  others  were 
rolling  a  round  column  to  its  place. 

He  touched  the  man  on  the  shoulder.  "  Your 
name's  Petersen,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Yah,"  said  the  big  fellow. 

"  And  you  worked  for  a  couple  of  days  on  the  St. 
Etienne  Hotel?" 

u  Yah." 

Tom  did  his  duty  as  prescribed  by  the  union  rules. 
He  pointed  out  Petersen  as  a  scab  to  the  steward. 
Straightway  the  men  crowded  up  and  there  was  a 
rapid  exchange  of  opinions.  Tom  and  the  steward 
wanted  that  a  demand  for  Petersen's  discharge  be 
made  of  the  contractor.  But  the  others  favored 
summary  action,  and  made  for  where  the  big  Swede 
was  standing. 

"  Get  out!  "  they  ordered. 

Petersen  glowered  at  the  crowd.  "  I  lick  de  whole 
bunch !  "  he  said  with  slow  defiance. 

The  men  were  brought  to  a  pause  by  his  threat 
ening  attitude.  His  resentful  eyes  turned  for  an 
instant  on  Tom.  The  men  began  to  move  forward 
cautiously.  Then  the  transformation  that  had  taken 
place  on  the  St.  Etienne  Hotel  took  place  again. 
The  courage  faded  from  him,  and  he  turned  and 
started  up  the  inclined  plank  for  the  street. 

Jeers  broke  from  the  men.  Caps  and  greasy 
gloves  pelted  Petersen's  retreating  figure.  One  man, 
the  smallest  of  the  gang,  ran  up  the  plank  after  him. 


88    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  Do  him  up,  Kid !  "  the  men  shouted  scrambling 
up  to  the  sidewalk. 

Kid,  with  showy  valiance,  aimed  an  upward  blow 
at  the  Swede's  head.  Petersen  warded  off  the  fist 
with  automatic  ease,  but  made  no  attempt  to  strike 
back.  He  started  away,  walking  sidewise,  one  eye 
on  his  path,  one  on  his  little  assailant  who  kept 
delivering  fierce  blows  that  somehow  failed  to  reach 
their  mark. 

"  If  he  ain't  runnin'  from  Kid!"  ejaculated  the 
men.  "  Good  boy,  Kid!" 

The  blows  became  faster  and  fiercer.  At  the  cor 
ner  Petersen  turned  back,  held  his  foe  at  bay  an 
instant,  and  a  second  time  Tom  felt  the  resentment 
of  his  eyes.  Then  he  was  driven  around  the  corner. 
A  minute  later  the  little  man  came  back,  puffed  out 
and  swaggering. 

"  What  an  infernal  coward!  "  the  men  marveled, 
as  they  went  back  to  work. 

That  was  a  hard  evening  for  Tom.  He  not  only 
had  to  work  for  votes,  but  he  met  two  or  three  lieu 
tenants  who  were  disheartened  by  the  men's  slowness 
to  promise  support,  and  to  these  friends  he  had  to 
give  new  courage.  Twice,  as  he  was  talking  to  men 
on  the  street,  he  glimpsed  the  tall,  lean  figure  of 
Petersen,  standing  in  a  doorway  as  though  waiting 
for  someone. 

The  end  of  his  exhausting  evening's  work  found 
him  near  the  Barrys',  and  he  dropped  in  for  an 
exchange  of  experiences.  Barry  and  Pig  Iron 
Pete  had  themselves  come  in  but  a  few  minutes 
before. 


THE    COWARD  89 

"  Got  work  on  your  job  for  a  couple  more  men?  " 
asked  Pete  after  the  first  words  had  been  spoken. 

"  Hello !     You  haven't  been  fired  ?  " 

"That's  it,"  answered  Pete;  and  Barry  nodded. 

"  Foley's  work,  I  suppose?" 

"  Sure.  Foley  put  Jake  Henderson  up  to  it.  Oh, 
Jake  makes  a  hot  foreman !  Driscoll  ought  to  pay 
him  ten  a  day  to  keep  off  the  job.  Jake  complained 
against  us  an'  got  us  fired.  Said  we  didn't  know  our 
business." 

"  Well,  it's  only  for  another  week,  boys,"  Tom 
cheered  them. 

"  If  you  think  that  then  you've  had  better  luck 
with  the  men  than  me  'n'  Barry  has,"  Pete  declared 
in  disgust.  "  They're  a  bunch  o'  old  maids ! 
Foley's  too  good  for  'em.  I  don't  see  why  we 
should  try  to  force  'em  to  take  somethin'  better." 
The  whole  blankety-blanked  outfit  had  Pete's  per 
mission  to  go  where  they  didn't  need  a  forge  to  heat 
their  rivets. 

"  You  don't  understand  'em,  Pete,"  returned  Tom. 
"  They've  got  to  think  first  of  all  of  how  to  earn  a 
living  for  their  families.  Of  course  they're  going 
to  hesitate  to  do  anything  that  will  endanger  their 
chance  to  earn  a  living.  And  you  seem  to  forget 
that  we've  only  got  to  get  one  man  in  five  to  win 


out." 


"  An*  we've  got  to  get  him!  "  said  Barry,  almost 
fiercely. 

"  D'you  think  there's  much  danger  of  your  losin', 
Tom?"  Mrs.  Barry  queried  anxiously. 

"  Not  if  we  work.     But  we've  got  to  work." 


90    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

Mrs.  Barry  was  silent  for  several  moments,  dur 
ing  which  the  talk  of  the  men  ran  on.  Suddenly, 
she  broke  in:  "  Don't  you  think  the  women'd  have 
some  influence  with  their  husbands?  " 

Tom  was  silent  for  a  thoughtful  minute.  "  Some 
of  them,  mebbe." 

"  More'n  you  think,  I  bet!  "  Mrs.  Barry  declared. 
"  It's  worth  tryin',  anyhow.  Here's  what  I'm  goin' 
to  do:  I'm  goin'  to  start  out  to-morrow  an'  begin 
visitin'  all  the  union  women  I  know.  I  can  get  the 
addresses  of  others  from  them.  An'  I'll  keep  at  it 
every  afternoon  I  can  get  away  till  the  election.  I'll 
talk  to  'em  good  an'  straight  an'  get  'em  to  talk  to 
other  women.  An'  we'll  get  a  lot  o'  the  men  in  line, 
see  if  we  don't!  " 

Tom  looked  admiringly  at  Mrs.  Barry's  homely 
face,  flushed  with  determination.  "  The  surest  thing 
we  can  do  to  win  is  to  put  you  up  for  walking  dele 
gate.  I'll  hustle  for  you." 

"  Oh,  g'wan  with  you,  Tom !  "  She  smiled  with 
pleasure,  however.  "  I've  got  a  picture  o'  myself 
climbin'  up  ladders  an'  buyin'  drinks  for  the  men." 

"  If  you  was  the  walkin'  delegate,"  said  Pete, 
"  we'd  always  work  on  the  first  floor,  an'  never  drink 
nothin'  but  tea." 

"  You  shut  up,  Pete !  "  Mrs.  Barry  looked  at 
Tom.  "  I  suppose  you're  wife'll  help  in  this,  too?  " 

Tom  looked  steadily  at  the  scroll  in  Mrs.  Barry's 
red  rug.  "  I'm  afraid  not,"  he  said  at  length.  "  She 
— she  couldn't  stand  climbing  the  stairs." 

It  was  after  eleven  o'clock  when  Tom  left  the 
Barrys'  and  started  through  the  quiet  cross  street 


THE    COWARD  91 

toward  a  car  line.  A  man  stepped  from  an  adjoin 
ing  doorway,  and  fell  in  a  score  of  paces  behind  him. 
Tom  heard  rapid  steps  drawing  nearer  and  nearer, 
but  it  was  not  till  the  man  had  gained  to  within 
a  pace  that  it  occurred  to  him  perhaps  he  was  being 
followed.  Then  it  was  too  late.  His  arm  was 
seized  in  a  grip  of  steel. 

The  street  was  dark  and  empty.  Thoughts  of 
Foley's  entertainment  committee  flashed  through  his 
head.  He  whirled  about  and  struck  out  fiercely  with 
his  free  arm.  His  wrist  was  caught  and  held  by  a 
grip  like  the  first.  He  was  as  helpless  as  if  hand 
cuffed. 

"  I  vant  a  yob,"  a  savage  voice  demanded. 

Tom  recognized  the  tall,  angular  figure.  "  Hello, 
Petersen!  What  d'you  want?" 

"  I  vant  a  yob." 

"  A  job.     How  can  I  give  you  a  job?  " 

"  You  take  to-day  ma  yob  avay.  You  give  me  a 
yob !  " 

In  a  flash  Tom  understood.  The  Swede  held  him 
accountable  for  the  incident  of  the  morning,  and  was 
determined  to  force  another  job  from  him.  Was 
the  man  crazy?  At  any  rate  'twould  be  wiser  to 
parley  than  to  bring  on  a  conflict  with  one  possessed 
of  such  strength  as  those  hands  betokened.  So  he 
made  no  attempt  to  break  loose. 

"  I  can't  give  you  a  job,  I  say." 

"  You  take  it  avay !  "  the  Swede  said,  with  fierce 
persistence.  "  You  make  me  leave!  " 

"  It's  your  own  fault.  If  you  want  to  work,  why 
don't  you  get  into  the  union?  " 


92    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

Tom  felt  a  convulsive  shiver  run  through  the 
man's  big  frame.  "  De  union?  Ah,  de  union! 
Ev'ryvare  I  ask  for  yob.  Ev'ryvare !  *  You  b'long 
to  union?  '  de  boss  say.  '  No,'  I  say.  De  boss  give 
me  no  yob.  De  union  let  me  not  vork!  De 
union !  "  His  hands  gripped  tighter  in  his  im 
potent  bitterness. 

"  Of  course  the  union  won't  let  you  work." 
'Vy?     I  am  strong! — yes.     I  know  de  vork." 

Tom  felt  that  no  explanation  of  unionism,  how 
ever  lucid,  would  quiet  this  simple-minded  excite 
ment.  So  he  said  nothing. 

"  Vy  should  I  not  vork?  Dare  be  yobs.  I 
know  how  to  vork.  But  no!  De  union!  I  mak 
dis  mont'  two  days.  I  mak  seven  dollar.  Seven 
dollar!  "  He  fairly  shook  Tom,  and  a  half  sob 
broke  from  his  lips.  "  How  de  union  tank  I  live? 
My  family? — me?  Seven  dollar?  " 

Tom  recognized  with  a  thrill  that  which  he  was 
hearing.  It  was  the  man's  soul  crying  out  in  resent 
ment  and  despair. 

"  But  you  can't  blame  the  union,"  he  said  weakly, 
feeling  that  his  answer  did  not  answer. 

"  You  tank  not?  "  Petersen  cried  fiercely.  "  You 
tank  not?  "  He  was  silent  a  brief  space,  and  his 
breath  surged  in  and  out  as  though  he  had  just 
paused  from  running.  Suddenly  he  freed  Tom's 
wrists  and  set  his  right  hand  into  Tom's  left  arm. 
"  Come !  I  show  you  vot  de  union  done." 

He  started  away.  Those  iron  fingers  locked  about 
the  prisoner's  arm  were  a  needless  fetter.  The 
Swede's  despairing  soul,  glimpsed  for  a  moment, 


THE    COWARD  93 

had  thrown  a  spell  upon  Tom,  and  he  would  have 
followed  willingly. 

Their  long  strides  matched,  and  their  heel-clicks 
coincided.  Both  were  silent.  At  the  end  of  ten 
minutes  they  were  in  a  narrow  street,  clifted  on  its 
either  side  with  tenements  that  reached  up  darkly. 
Presently  the  Swede  turned  down  a  stairway,  sen 
tineled  by  garbage  cans.  Tom  thought  they  were 
entering  a  basement.  But  Petersen  walked  on,  and 
in  the  solid  blackness  Tom  was  glad  of  the  hand 
locked  on  his  arm.  They  mounted  a  flight  of  stone 
steps,  and  came  into  a  little  stone-paved  court.  Far 
above  there  was  a  roof-framed  square  of  stars. 
Petersen  led  the  way  across  the  court  and  into  the 
doorway  of  a  rear  tenement.  The  air  was  rotting. 
They  went  up  two  flights  of  stairs,  so  old  that  the 
wood  shivered  under  foot.  Petersen  opened  a  door. 
A  coal  oil  lamp  burned  on  an  otherwise  barren  table, 
and  beside  the  table  sat  a  slight  woman  with  a  quilt 
drawn  closely  about  her. 

She  rose,  the  quilt  fell  from  her  shoulders,  and  she 
stood  forth  in  a  faded  calico  wrapper.  "  Oh,  Nels ! 
YouVe  come  at  last!  "  she  said.  Then  she  saw 
Tom,  and  drew  back  a  step. 

"  Yah,"  said  Petersen.  He  dragged  Tom  after 
him  into  the  room  and  swept  his  left  arm  about. 
«  See !— De  union !  " 

The  room  was  almost  bare.  The  table,  three 
wooden  chairs,  a  few  dishes,  a  cooking-stove  without 
fire, — this  was  the  furniture.  Half  the  plastering 
was  gone  from  the  ceiling,  the  blue  kalsomine  was 
scaling  leprously  from  the  walls,  in  places  the  floor 


94      THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

was  worn  almost  through.  In  another  room  he  saw 
a  child  asleep  on  a  bed. 

There  was  just  one  picture  on  the  walls,  a  brown- 
framed  photograph  of  a  man  in  the  dress  and  pose  of 
a  prize  fighter — a  big,  tall,  angular  man,  with  a 
.  drooping  mustache.  Tom  gave  a  quick  glance  at 
Petersen. 

"  See! — De  union!  "  Petersen  repeated  fiercely. 

The  little  woman  came  quickly  forward  and  laid 
her  hand  on  Petersen's  arm.  "  Nels,  Nels,"  she 
said  gently. 

"  Yah,  Anna.  But  he  is  de  man  vot  drove  me 
from  ma  yob." 

"  We  must  forgive  them  that  despitefully  use  us, 
the  Lord  says." 

Petersen  quieted  under  her  touch  and  dropped 
Tom's  arm. 

She  turned  her  blue  eyes  upon  Tom  in  gentle 
accusation.  "How  could  you?  Oh,  how  could 
you?" 

Tom  could  only  answer  helplessly:  "But  why 
don't  he  join  the  union?  " 

"How  can  he?" 

The  words  echoed  within  Tom.  How  could  he? 
Everything  Tom  saw  had  not  the  value  of  half  the 
union's  initiation  fee. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  "  Won't  you  sit 
down,  brother."  Mrs.  Petersen  offered  Tom  one  of 
the  wooden  chairs,  and  all  three  sat  down.  He 
noted  that  the  resentment  was  passing  from  Peter- 
sen's  eyes,  and  that,  fastened  on  his  wife,  they  were 
filling  with  submissive  adoration. 


i  HE    COWARD  95 

"  Nels  has  tried  very  hard,"  the  little  woman  said. 
They  had  been  in  the  West  for  three  years,  she  went 
on;  Nels  had  worked  with  a  non-union  crew  on  a 
bridge  over  the  Missouri.  When  that  job  was  fin 
ished  they  had  spent  their  savings  coming  to  New 
York,  hearing  there  was  plenty  of  work  there. 
"  We  had  but  twenty  dollars  when  we  got  here. 
How  could  Nels  join  the  union?  We  had  to  live. 
An'  since  he  couldn't  join  the  union,  the  union 
wouldn't  let  him  work.  Brother,  is  that  just?  Is 
that  the  sort  o'  treatment  you'd  like  to  get?" 

Tom  was  helpless  against  her  charges.  The 
union  was  right  in  principle,  but  what  was  mere  cor 
rectness  of  principle  in  the  presence  of  such  a 
situation? 

'  Would  you  be  willing  to  join  the  union?"  he 
asked  abruptly  of  Petersen. 

It  was  Petersen's  wife  who  answered.  "  O' 
course  he  would." 

"  Well,  don't  you  worry  any  more  then.  He 
won't  have  any  trouble  getting  a  job." 

"How?"  asked  the  little  woman. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  him  in  the  union." 

"  But  that  costs  twenty-five  dollars." 

"  Yes." 

"  But,  brother,  we  haven't  got  one!  " 

"  I'll  advance  it.  He  can  pay  it  back  easy  enough 
afterwards." 

The  little  woman  rose  and  stood  before  Tom. 
Her  thin  white  face  was  touched  up  faintly  with 
color,  and  tears  glistened  in  her  eyes.  She  took 
Tom's  big  red  hand  in  her  two  frail  ones. 


96    THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  Brother,  if  you  ain't  a  Christian,  you've  got  a 
Christian  heart!  "  she  cried  out,  and  the  thin  hands 
tightened  fervently.  She  turned  to  her  husband. 
"  Nels,  what  did  I  say!  The  Lord  would  not  for 
get  them  that  remembered  him." 

Tom  saw  Petersen  stand  up,  nothing  in  his  eyes 
now  but  adoration,  and  open  his  arms.  He  turned 
his  head. 

For  the  second  time  Tom  took  note  of  the  brown- 
framed  photograph,  with  "  The  Swedish  Terror  "  in 
black  letters  at  its  bottom,  and  rose  and  stood  staring 
at  it.  Presently,  Mrs.  Petersen  drew  to  his  side. 

''  We  keep  it  before  us  to  remind  us  what  wonders 
the  Lord  can  work,  bless  His  holy  name !  "  she  ex 
plained.  u  Nels  was  a  terrible  fightin'  man  before 
we  was  married  an'  I  left  the  Salvation  Army.  A 
terrible  fightin'  man !  "  Even  in  her  awe  of  Peter- 
sen's  one-time  wickedness  Tom  could  detect  a  lurking 
admiration  of  his  prowess.  "  The  Lord  has  saved 
him  from  all  that.  But  he  has  a  terrible  temper. 
It  flares  up  at  times,  an'  the  old  carnal  desire  to  fight 
gets  hold  o'  him  again.  That's  his  great  weakness. 
But  we  pray  that  God  will  keep  him  from  fightin', 
an'  God  does!" 

Tom  looked  at  the  little  woman,  a  bundle  of  relig 
ious  ardor,  looked  at  Petersen  with  his  big  shoulders, 
thought  of  the  incident  of  the  morning.  He  blinked 
his  eyes. 

Tom  stepped  to  the  table  and  laid  down  a  five- 
dollar  bill.  "  You  can  pay  that  back  later."  He 
moved  quickly  to  the  door.  "  Good-night,"  he  said, 
and  tried  to  escape. 


THE    COWARD  97 

But  Mrs.  Petersen  was  upon  him  instantly. 
"  Brother!  Brother!  "  She  seized  his  hands  again 
in  both  hers,  and  looked  at  him  with  glowing  eyes. 
"  Brother,  may  God  bless  you!  " 

Tom  blinked  his  eyes  again.  "  Good-night,"  he 
said. 

Petersen  stepped  forward  and  without  a  word  took 
Tom's  arm.  The  grasp  was  lighter  than  when  they 
had  come  up.  Again  Tom  was  glad  of  the  guidance 
of  that  hand  as  they  felt  their  way  down  the  shiver 
ing  stairs,  and  out  through  the  tunnel. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said  once  more,  when  they  had 
gained  the  street. 

Petersen  gripped  his  hand  in  awkward  silence. 


Chapter   IX 
RUTH   ARNOLD 

UTH  ARNOLD  was  known  among  her 
friends  as  a  queer  girl.  Neither  the  new 
ones  in  New  York  nor  the  old  ones  of  her 
birth  town  understood  her  "  strange  im 
pulses."  They  were  constantly  being  shocked  by 
ideas  and  actions  which  they  considered,  to  phrase 
it  mildly,  very  unusual.  The  friends  in  her  old  home 
were  horrified  when  she  decided  to  become  a  sten 
ographer.  Friends  in  both  places  were  horrified 
when,  a  little  less  than  a  year  before,  it  became  known 
she  was  going  to  leave  the  home  of  her  aunt  to  be 
come  Mr.  Driscoll's  secretary.  "  What  a  fool !  " 
they  cried.  "  If  she  had  stayed  she  might  have 
married  ever  so  well !  "  Mrs.  Baxter  had  entreated, 
and  with  considerable  elaboration  had  delivered 
practically  these  same  opinions.  But  Ruth  was  ob 
stinate  in  her  queerness,  and  had  left. 

However,  only  a  few  weeks  before,  Mrs.  Baxter 
had  had  a  partial  recompense  for  Ruth's  disappoint 
ing  conduct.  She  had  noted  the  growing  intimacy 
between  Mr.  Berman,  who  was  frequently  at  her 
house,  and  Ruth,  and  by  delicate  questioning  had 
drawn  the  calm  statement  from  her  niece  that  Mr. 
Berman  had  asked  her  in  marriage. 

"  Of  course  you  said  l  yes,'  "  said  Mrs.  Baxter. 

98 


RUTH   ARNOLD  99 

Ruth  had  not. 

"  My  child!     Why  not?" 

"  I  don't  love  him." 

"  What  of  that?  "  demanded  her  aunt,  who  loved 
her  husband.  "  Love  will  come.  He  is  educated, 
a  thorough  gentleman,  and  has  money.  What  more 
do  you  want  in  a  husband?  And  your  uncle  says 
he  is  very  clever  in  business." 

Thus  brought  to  bay,  Ruth  had  taken  her  aunt 
into  the  secret  that  her  refusal  had  not  been  final  and 
that  Mr.  Berman  had  given  her  six  months  in  which 
to  make  up  her  mind.  This  statement  was  Mrs. 
Baxter's  partial  recompense.  *  Then  you'll  marry 
him,  Ruth !  "  she  declared,  and  kissed  her  lightly. 

Ruth  understood  herself  no  better  than  did  her 
friends.  She  was  not  conscious  that  she  had  in  a 
measure  that  rare  endowment — the  clear  vision 
which  perceives  the  things  of  life  in  their  true  re 
lation  and  at  their  true  value,  plus  the  instinct  to 
act  upon  that  vision.  It  was  the  manifestations  of 
this  instinct  that  made  her  friends  call  her  queer. 
Her  instinct,  however,  did  not  hold  her  in  sole  sway. 
Her  training  had  fastened  many  governing  conven 
tions  upon  her,  and  she  was  not  always  as  brave  as 
her  inward  promptings.  Her  actions  made  upon 
impulse  were  usually  in  accord  with  this  instinct. 
Her  actions  that  were  the  result  of  thought  were 
frequently  in  accord  with  convention. 

It  was  her  instinct  that  had  impelled  her  to  ask 
Tom  to  call.  It  was  convention  that,  on  Sunday 
afternoon,  made  her  await  his  coming  with  trepida 
tion.  She  was  genuinely  interested  in  the  things  for 


ioo  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

which  Tom  stood,  and  her  recent-born  admiration  of 
him  was  sincere.  Nevertheless  his  approaching  visit 
was  in  the  nature  of  an  adventure  to  her.  This 
workingman,  transferred  from  the  business  world  to 
the  social  world,  might  prove  himself  an  embarrass 
ing  impossibility.  Especially,  she  wondered,  with 
more  than  a  little  apprehension,  how  he  would  be 
dressed.  She  feared  a  flaming  necktie  crawling  up 
his  collar,  and  perhaps  in  it  a  showy  pin;  or  a  pair 
of  fancy  shoes;  or  a  vest  of  assertive  pattern;  or, 
perhaps,  hair  oil! 

When  word  was  brought  her  by  a  maid  that  Tom 
was  below,  she  gave  an  order  that  he  was  to  wait, 
and  put  on  her  hat  and  jacket.  She  did  not  know 
him  well  enough  to  ask  him  to  her  room.  She  could 
not  receive  him  in  the  parlor  common  to  all  the 
boarding-house.  Her  instinctive  self  told  her  it 
would  be  an  embarrassment  to  him  to  be  set  amid 
the  gossiping  crowd  that  gathered  there  on  Sunday 
afternoon.  Her  conventional  self  told  her  that,  if 
he  were  but  a  tenth  as  bad  as  was  possible,  it  would 
be  more  than  an  embarrassment  for  her  to  sit  beside 
him  amid  those  curious  eyes.  The  street  was  the 
best  road  out  of  the  dilemma. 

He  was  sitting  in  the  high-backed  hall  chair  when 
she  came  down.  "  Shall  we  not  take  a  walk?  "  she 
asked.  "  The  day  is  beautiful  for  February." 

Tom  acceded  gratefully.  He  had  glanced  through 
the  parted  portieres  into  the  parlor,  and  his  minutes 
of  waiting  had  been  minutes  of  consternation. 

The  first  thing  Ruth  noted  when  they  came  out 
into  the  light  of  the  street  was  that  his  clothes  were 


RUTH    ARNOLD  101 

all  in  modest  taste,  and  she  thrilled  with  relief. 
Mixed  with  this  there  was  another  feeling,  a  glow  of 
pleasure  that  he  was  vindicating  himself  to  her  con 
ventional  part. 

Ruth  lived  but  a  few  doors  from  Central  Park. 
As  they  started  across  Central  Park  West  a  big  red 
automobile,  speeding  above  the  legal  rate,  came 
sweeping  down  upon  them,  tooting  its  arrogant  warn 
ing.  Tom  jerked  Ruth  back  upon  the  sidewalk. 
She  glared  at  the  bundled-up  occupants  of  the  scurry 
ing  car. 

"  Don't  it  make  you  feel  like  an  anarchist  when 
people  do  that?  "  she  gasped. 

"  Not  the  bomb-throwing  sort." 

"  Why  not?  When  people  do  that,  Fve  got  just 
one  desire,  and  that's  to  throw  a  bomb !  " 

"  What  good  would  a  bomb  here  or  there 
do?  Or  what  harm?"  Tom  asked  humorously. 
u  What's  the  use  trying  to  destroy  people  that're 
already  doomed?" 

Ruth  was  silent  till  they  gained  the  other  side  of 
the  street.  "Doomed?  What  do  you  mean?"  she 
then  asked. 

"  Every  dog  has  his  day,  you  know.  Them  rich 
people  are  having  theirs.  It's  a  summer  day,  and  I 
guess  it's  just  about  noon  now.  But  it's  passing." 

Ruth  had  learned  during  her  conversation  with 
him  on  the  previous  Tuesday  that  a  large  figurative 
statement  such  as  this  was  likely  to  have  a  great 
many  ideas  behind  it,  so  she  now  proceeded  to  lead 
him  to  the  ideas'  expression.  The  sun,  drawing  good- 
humoredly  from  his  summer's  store,  had  brought 


102    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

thousands  to  the  Park  walks,  and  with  genial  pre 
sumption  had  unbuttoned  their  overcoats.  The  bare 
gray  branches  of  bush  and  tree  glinted  dully  in  the 
warm  light,  as  if  dreamfully  smiling  over  the  budding 
days  not  far  ahead.  But  Tom  had  attention  for  the 
joy  of  neither  the  sun  nor  his  dependents.  He 
thought  only  of  what  he  was  saying,  for  he  had 
been  led  to  speech  upon  one  of  his  dearest  subjects* 
Though  he  had  left  school  at  thirteen  to  begin 
work,  he  had  attended  night  school  for  a  number  of 
years,  had  belonged  to  a  club  whose  chief  aim  was 
debating,  had  read  a  number  of  solid  books  and  had 
done  a  great  deal  of  thinking  for  himself.  As  a 
result  of  his  reading,  thinking  and  observation  he 
had  come  into  some  large  ideas  concerning  the  future 
of  the  working  class.  In  the  past,  he  now  said  to 
Ruth,  classes  had  risen  to  power,  served  their  pur 
pose,  and  been  displaced  by  new  classes  stimulated  by 
,  new  ideas.  The  capitalist  class  was  now  in  power, 
i  and  was  performing  its  mission — the  development 
and  centralization  of  industries.  But  its  decline 
would  be  even  more  rapid  than  its  rise.  It  would 
••  be  succeeded  by  the  working  class.  The  working 
class  was  vast  in  numbers,  and  was  filled  with  surg 
ing  energy.  Its  future  domination  was  certain. 

"And  you  believe  this?"  Ruth  queried  when  he 
came  to  a  pause. 
"  I  know  it." 

"  Admitting  that  all  these  things  are  coming 
about — which  I  don't — don't  you  honestly  think  it 
would  be  disastrous  to  the  general  interest  for  the 
workingman  to  come  into  power?  " 


RUTH   ARNOLD  103 

4  You  mean  we  would  legislate  solely  in  our  own 
interests?  What  if  we  did?  Hasn't  every  class 
that  ever  came  intc  power  done  that?  Anyhow, 
since  we  make  up  nine-tenths  of  the  people  we'd  cer 
tainly  be  legislating  in  the  interests  of  the  majority — 
which  can't  always  be  said  now.  And  as  for  our 
ability  to  run  things,  I'd  rather  have  an  honest  fool 
than  a  grafter  that  knows  it  all.  But  if  you  mean 
we're  a  pretty  rough  lot,  and  haven't  much  education, 
I  guess  you're  about  right.  How  can  we  help  it? 
We've  never  had  a  chance  to  be  anything  else.  But 
think  what  the  working  class  was  a  hundred  years 
ago!  Haven't  we  come  up?  Thousands  of  miles! 
That's  because  we've  been  getting  more  and  more 
chances,  like  chances  for  an  education,  that  used  to 
belong  only  to  the  rich.  And  our  chances  are  in 
creasing.  Another  hundred  years  and  we  won't 
know  ourselves.  We'll  be  fit  for  anything!  " 
u  I  see  you're  very  much  of  a  dreamer." 
"Dreamer?  Not  at  all!  If  you  were  to  look 
ahead  and  say  in  a  hundred  years  from  now  it'll  be 
2000,  would  you  call  that  a  dream?  " 
"  Hardly!  "  Ruth  admitted  with  a  smile. 
'  Well,  what  I'm  telling  you  is  just  as  certain  as 
the  passage  of  time.  I'm  anything  but  a  dreamer. 
I  believe  in  a  present  for  the  working  class  as  well 
as  a  future.  I  believe  that  we,  if  we  work  hard,  have 
the  right,  now,  to-day,  to  a  comfortable  living,  and 
with  enough  over  to  give  our  children  as  good  an 
education  as  the  children  of  the  bosses;  and  with 
enough  to  buy  a  few  books,  see  a  little  of  the  world, 
and  to  save  a  little  so  we'll  not  have  ahead  of  us 


io4THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

the  terrible  fear  that  we  and  our  families  may  starve 
when  we  get  too  old  to  work.  That's  the  least  we 
ought  to  have.  But  we  lack  an  almighty  lot  of 
having  it,  Miss  Arnold. 

"  Take  my  own  trade — and  we're  a  lot  better  off 
than  most  workingmen — we  get  three  seventy-five 
a  day.  That  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  we  made  it  three 
hundred  days  a  year,  but  you  know  we  don't  average 
more  than  six  months'  work.  Less  than  seven 
hundred  dollars  a  year.  What  can  a  man  with  a 
family  do  in  New  York  on  seven  hundred  dollars 
a  year?  Two  hundred  for  rent,  three  hundred  for 
food,  one  hundred  for  clothes.  There's  six  hundred 
gone  in  three  lumps.  Twenty-five  cents  a  day  left 
for  heat,  light,  education,  books,  amusement,  travel, 
street-car  fare, — and  to  save  for  your  old  age! 

"  And  then  our  trade's  dangerous.  I  think  half 
of  our  men  are  killed.  If  you  saw  the  obituary  list 
that's  published  monthly  of  all  the  branches  of  our 
union  in  the  country,  you'd  think  so,  too !  Every 
other  name — crushed,  or  something  broke  and  he 
fell.  Only  the  other  day  on  a  steel  bridge  near 
Pittsburg  a  piece  of  rigging  snapped  and  ten  men 
dropped  two  hundred  feet.  They  landed  on  steel 
beams  in  a  barge  anchored  below — and  were  pulp. 
And  after  the  other  names,  it's  pneumonia  or  con 
sumption.  D'you  know  what  that  means  ?  It  means 
exposure  at  work.  Killed  by  their  work!  .  .  . 
Well,  that's  our  work, — and  we  get  seven  hundred 
a  year! 

"  And  then  our  work  takes  the  best  part  of  our 
lives,  and  throws  us  away.  So  long  as  we're  strong 


RUTH   ARNOLD  105 

and  active,  we  can  be  used.  But  the  day  we  begin 
to  get  a  little  stiff — if  we  last  that  long! — we're  out 
of  it.  It  may  be  at  forty.  We've  got  to  learn  how 
to  do  something  else,  or  just  wait  for  the  end. 
There's  our  families.  And  you  know  how  much 
we've  got  in  the  bank! 

41  Well,  that's  how  it  is  in  our  union.  Is  seven 
hundred  a  year  enough? — when  we  risk  our  lives 
every  day  we  work? — when  we're  fit  for  work  only 
so  long  as  we're  young  men?  We're  human  beings, 
Miss  Arnold.  We're  men.  We  want  comfortable 
homes,  we  want  to  keep  our  children  in  school,  we'd 
like  to  save  something  up  for  the  time  when  we  can't 
work.  Seven  hundred  a  year!  How  're  we  going 
to  do  it,  Miss  Arnold?  How  're  we  going  to 
doit?" 

Ruth  looked  up  at  his  glowing  set  face,  and 
for  the  moment  forgot  she  was  allied  to  the  other 
side.  "  Demand  higher  wages !  "  her  instinct  an 
swered  promptly. 

"  That's  the  only  thing!  And  that's  what  we're 
going  to  do!  More  money  for  the  time  we  do 
work!" 

He  said  no  more.  Now  that  the  stimulant  of  his 
excited  words  was  gone,  Ruth  felt  her  fatigue.  En 
grossed  by  his  emotions  he  had  swung  along  at  a 
pace  that  had  taxed  her  lesser  stride. 

"  Shall  we  not  sit  down,"  she  suggested;  and  they 
found  a  bench  on  a  pinnacle  of  rock  from  whence 
they  looked  down  through  a  criss-cross  of  bare 
branches  upon  a  sun-polished  lagoon,  and  upon  the 
files  of  people  curving  along  the  paths.  Tom 


io6THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

removed  his  hat,  and  Ruth  turning  to  face  him  took 
in  anew  the  details  of  his  head — the  strong,  square, 
smooth-shaven  face,  the  broad  forehead,  moist  and 
banded  with  pink  where  his  hat  had  pressed,  the 
hair  that  clung  to  his  head  in  tight  brown  curls. 
Looked, — and  felt  herself  growing  small,  and  the 
men  of  her  acquaintance  growing  small.  And 
thought.  .  .  .  Yes,  that  was  it;  it  was  his  pur 
pose  that  made  him  big. 

"  You  have  kept  me  so  interested  that  I've  not 
yet  asked  you  about  your  fight  against  Mr.  Foley," 
she  said,  after  a  moment. 

Tom  told  her  all  that  had  been  done. 

"  But  is  there  no  other  way  of  getting  at  the  men 
except  by  seeing  them  one  by  one?  "  she  asked. 
u  That  seems  such  a  laborious  way  of  carrying  on  a 
campaign.  Can't  you  have  mass-meetings?  " 

Tom  shook  his  head.  "  In  the  first  place  it  would 
be  hard  to  get  the  men  out;  they're  tired  when  they 
come  home  from  work,  and  then  a  lot  of  them  don't 
want  to  openly  identify  themselves  with  us.  And 
in  the  second  place  Foley'd  be  likely  to  fill  the  hall 
with  his  roughs  and  break  the  meeting  up.'* 

"  But  to  see  the  men  individually!  And  you  say 
there  are  twenty-five  hundred  of  them.  Why,  that's 
impossible!  " 

"  Yes.  A  lot  of  the  men  we  can't  find.  They're 
out  when  we  call." 

"  Why  not  send  a  letter  to  every  member?  "  asked 
Ruth,  suggesting  the  plan  to  her  most  obvious. 

"  A  letter?" 

"  A  letter  that  would  reach  them  a  day  or  two 


RUTH   ARNOLD  107 

before  election!  A  short  letter,  that  drove  every 
point  home!  "  She  leaned  toward  him  excitedly. 

u  Good  1  "    Tom  brought  his  fist  down  on  his  knee. 

Ruth  knew  the  money  would  have  to  come  from 
his  pocket.  "  Let's  see.  It  would  cost,  for  stamps, 
twenty-five  dollars;  for  the  letters — they  could  be 
printed — about  fifteen  dollars;  for  the  envelopes  six 
or  seven  dollars.  Say  forty-five  or  fifty  dollars." 

Fifty  dollars  was  a  great  deal  to  Tom — saved  little 
by  little.  But  he  hesitated  only  a  moment.  "  All 
right.  If  we  can  influence  a  hundred  men,  one  in 
twenty-five,  it  '11  be  worth  the  money." 

A  thoughtful  look  came  over  his  face. 

"What  is  it?"   Ruth  asked  quickly. 

"  I  was  thinking  about  the  printing  and  other 
things.  Wondering  how  I  could  get  away  from 
work  to  see  to  it." 

"Won't  you  let  me  look  after  that  for  you?" 
Ruth  asked  eagerly.  "  I  look  after  all  our  printing. 
I  can  leave  the  office  whenever  I'm  not  busy,  you 
know.  It  would  take  only  a  few  minutes  of  my 


time." 


"  It  really  wouldn't?"  Tom  asked  hesitantly. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  any  trouble  at  all.  And  I'd  be 
glad  to  do  it." 

Tom  thanked  her.  "  I  wouldn't  know  how  to  go 
about  a  thing  of  that  sort,  anyhow,  even  if  I  could  get 
away  from  work,"  he  admitted. 

"And  I  could  see  to  the  addressing,  too,"  Ruth 
pursued. 

He  sat  up  straight.  "  There's  the  trouble !  The 
addresses!" 


io8  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

"The  addresses?    Why?" 

"  There's  only  one  list  of  the  men  and  where  they 
live.  That's  the  book  of  the  secretary  and  treasurer." 

"  Won't  he  lend  it  to  you  ?  " 

Tom  had  to  laugh.  "  Connelly  lend  it  to  me ! 
Connelly's  one  of  the  best  friends  Foley's  got." 

'  Then  there's  no  way  of  getting  it?  " 

"  He  keeps  it  in  his  office,  and  when  he's  not  there 
the  office  is  locked.  But  we'll  get  it  somehow." 

"  Well,  then  if  you'll  write  out  the  letter  and  send 
it  to  me  in  a  day  or  two,  I'll  see  to  having  it  printed 
right  away." 

It  flashed  upon  Tom  what  a  strong  concluding 
statement  to  the  letter  the  guarantee  from  Mr.  Baxter 
would  make.  He  told  Ruth  of  his  idea,  of  his  at 
tempts  to  get  the  guarantee,  and  of  the  influence  it 
would  have  on  the  men. 

"  He's  probably  forgotten  all  about  it,"  she  said. 
"  I  think  I  may  be  able  to  help  you  to  get  it.  I  can 
speak  to  Aunt  Elizabeth  and  have  her  speak  to  him." 

But  her  quick  second  thought  was  that  she  could 
not  do  this  without  revealing  to  her  aunt  a  relation 
Mrs.  Baxter  could  not  understand.  "  No,  after  all 
I  can't  be  of  any  use  there.  You  might  try  to  see 
him  again,  and  if  you  fail  then  you  might  write  him." 

Tom  gave  her  a  quick  puzzled  glance,  as  he  had 
done  a  few  days  before  when  she  had  mentioned  her 
relation  to  Mr.  Baxter.  She  caught  the  look. 

"  You  are  wondering  how  it  is  Mr.  Baxter  is  my 
uncle,"  she  guessed. 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted. 

"  It's  very  simple.     All  rich  people  have  their 


RUTH   ARNOLD  109 

poor  relatives,  I  suppose?  Mrs.  Baxter  and  my 
mother  were  sisters.  Mr.  Baxter  made  money.  My 
father  died  before  he  had  a  chance.  After  mamma 
died,  I  decided  to  go  to  work.  There  was  only 
enough  money  to  live  a  shabby-genteel,  pottering 
life — and  I  was  sick  of  that.  I  have  no  talents,  and 
I  wanted  to  be  out  in  the  world,  in  contact  with 
people  who  are  doing  real  things.  So  I  learned 
stenography.  A  little  over  a  year  ago  I  came  to 
New  York.  I  lived  for  awhile  with  my  uncle  and 
aunt;  they  were  kind,  but  the  part  of  a  poor  relation 
didn't  suit  me,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  work 
again.  They  were  not  pleased  very  well;  they 
wanted  me  to  stay  with  them.  But  my  mind  was 
made  up.  I  offered  to  go  to  work  for  my  uncle,  but 
he  had  no  place  for  me,  and  got  me  the  position  with 
Mr.  Driscoll.  And  that's  all." 

A  little  later  she  asked  him  for  the  time.  His 
watch  showed  a  quarter  of  five.  On  starting  out 
she  had  told  him  that  she  must  be  home  by  five,  so 
she  now  remarked:  u  Perhaps  we'd  better  be  going. 
It  '11  take  us  about  fifteen  minutes  to  walk  back." 

They  started  homeward  across  the  level  sunbeams 
that  were  stretching  themselves  out  beneath  barren 
trees  and  over  brown  lawns  for  their  night's  sleep. 
As  they  drew  near  to  Ruth's  boarding-house  they 
saw  a  perfectly-tailored  man  in  a  high  hat  go  up  the 
steps.  He  was  on  the  point  of  ringing  the  bell  when 
he  sighted  them,  and  he  stood  waiting  their  coming. 
A  surprised  look  passed  over  his  face  when  he  recog 
nized  Ruth's  companion. 

As  they  came  up  the  steps  he  raised  his  hat  to 


no  THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

Ruth.  "  Good-afternoon,  Miss  Arnold."  And  to 
Tom  he  said  carelessly:  "Hello,  Keating." 

Tom  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes.  "  Hello, 
Berman,"  he  returned. 

Mr.  Berman  started  at  the  omission  of  the  "  Mr." 
Tom  lifted  his  hat  to  Ruth,  bade  her  good-afternoon, 
and  turned  away,  not  understanding  a  sudden  pang 
that  shot  into  his  heart. 

Mr.  Berman's  eyes  followed  Tom  for  a  dozen 
paces.  "  A  very  decent  sort — for  a  workingman," 
he  remarked. 

"  For  any  sort  of  a  man,"  said  Ruth,  with  an 
emphasis  that  surprised  her.  She  took  out  her  latch 
key,  and  they  entered. 


Chapter  X 
LAST    DAYS    OF   THE    CAMPAIGN 

FTER  supper,  which  was  eaten  in  the 
customary  silence,  Tom  started  for  the 
Barrys'  to  talk  over  the  scheme  of  cir 
cularizing  the  members  of  the  union.  He 
met  Pete  coming  out  of  the  Barrys*  tenement.  He 
joined  him  and,  as  they  walked  away,  outlined  the 
new  plan. 

"  That's  what  I  call  a  mighty  foxy  scheme,"  Pete 
approved.  *'  It's  a  knock-out  blow.  It  '11  come 
right  at  the  last  minute,  an'  Foley  won't  have  time 
to  hit  back." 

Tom  pointed  out  the  difficulty  of  getting  the  mem 
bership  list.  4  You  leave  that  to  me,  Tom.  It's 
as  easy  as  fallin'  off  the  twenty-third  story  an'  hittin' 
the  asphalt.  You  can't  miss  it." 

"  But  what  kind  of  a  deal  will  you  make  with 
Connelly?  He's  crooked,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  he  has  got  pretty  much  of  a  bend  to  him," 
Pete  admitted.  "  But  he  ain't  so  worse,  Tom. 
I've  traveled  a  lot  with  him.  When  d'you  want  the 
book?" 

"  We've  got  to  get  it  and  put  it  back  without  Con 
nelly  knowing  it's  been  gone.  We'd  have  to  use 
it  at  night.  Could  you  get  it  late,  and  take  it  back 
the  next  morning?  " 

zxx 


ii2  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  That'd  be  runnin'  mighty  close.  What's  the 
matter  with  gettin'  it  Saturday  night  an'  usin'  it 
Sunday?  " 

"  Sunday's  pretty  late,  with  the  election  coming 
Wednesday.  But  it  '11  do,  I  guess." 

Tom  spent  the  evening  at  one  corner  of  the  dining- 
table  from  which  he  had  turned  back  the  red  cloth, 
laboriously  scratching  on  a  sheet  of  ruled  letter  paper. 
He  had  never  written  when  he  could  avoid  it.  His 
ideas  were  now  clear  enough,  but  they  struggled 
against  the  unaccustomed  confinement  of  written 
language.  The  words  came  slowly,  with  physical 
effort,  and  only  after  crossing  out,  and  interlin 
ing,  and  crossing  out  again,  were  they  joined  into 
sentences. 

At  ten  o'clock  Maggie,  who  had  been  calling  on  a 
friend,  came  in  with  Ferdinand.  The  boy  made 
straight  for  the  couch  and  was  instantly  asleep. 
Maggie  was  struck  at  once  by  the  unwonted  sight  of 
her  husband  writing,  but  her  sulkiness  fought  her 
curiosity  for  more  than  a  minute,  during  which  she 
removed  her  hat  and  jacket,  before  the  latter  could 
gain  a  grudged  victory.  "  What  are  you  doing?  " 
she  asked  shortly. 

'  Writing  a  letter,"  he  answered,  keeping  his  eyes 
on  the  paper. 

She  leaned  over  his  shoulder  and  read  a  few  lines. 
Her  features  stiffened.  "  What're  you  going  to  do 
with  that?" 

"  Print  it." 

"  But  you'll  have  to  pay  for  it." 

"  Yes." 


LAST    DAYS   OF    CAMPAIGN     113 

"How  much?" 

"  About  fifty  dollars." 

She  gasped,  and  her  sullen  composure  fled.  "  Fifty 
dollars!  For  that — that "  Breath  failed  her. 

Tom  looked  around.  Her  black  eyes  were  blaz 
ing.  Her  hands  were  clenched.  Her  full  breast 
was  rising  and  falling  rapidly. 

"  Tom  Keating,  this  is  about  the  limit!  "  she  broke 
out.  "  Hain't  your  foolishness  learnt  you  anything 
yet?  It's  cost  you  seven  dollars  a  week  already. 
And  here  you  are,  throwing  fifty  dollars  away  all  in 
one  lump!  Fifty  dollars!  "  Her  breath  failed  her 
again.  "  That's  like  you !  You'll  throw  money 
away,  and  let  me  go  without  a  decent  rag  to  my 
back!" 

Tom  arose.  "  Maggie,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that 
was  cold  and  hard,  "  I  don't  expect  any  sympathy 
from  you.  I  don't  expect  you  to  understand  what 
I'm  about.  I  don't  think  you  want  to  understand. 
But  I  do  expect  you  to  keep  still,  if  you've  got  nothing 
better  to  say  than  you've  just  said !  " 

Maggie  had  lost  herself.  "Is  that  a  threat?" 
she  cried  furiously.  "  Do  you  mean  to  threaten  me? 
Why,  you  brute !  D'you  think  you  can  make  me  keep 
still?  You  throw  away  money  that's  as  much  mine 
as  yours ! — you  make  me  suffer  for  it ! — and  yet  you 
expect  me  never  to  say  a  word,  do  you  ?  " 

Tom  glared  at  her.  His  hands  tingled  to  lay  hold 
of  her  and  shake  her.  But,  as  he  glared,  he  thought 
of  the  woman  he  had  so  recently  left,  and  a  sense  of 
shame  for  his  desire  crept  upon  him.  And,  too, 
he  began  vaguely  to  feel,  what  it  was  inevitable  he 


ii4  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

should  some  time  feel,  the  contrast  between  his 
wife  .  .  .  and  this  other. 

His  silence  added  to  her  frenzy.  "  You  threaten 
me?  What  do  I  care  for  your  threats!  You  can't 
do  anything  worse  than  you  already  have  done, — and 
are  doing.  You're  ruining  us !  Well,  what  are  you 
standing  there  for?  Why " 

There  was  but  one  thing  for  Tom  to  do,  that 
which  he  had  often  had  to  do  before, — go  into  the 
street.  He  put  the  scribbled  sheets  into  his  coat,  and 
left  her  standing  there  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
pouring  out  her  fury. 

He  walked  about  till  he  thought  she  would  be 
asleep,  then  returned.  A  glance  into  their  bedroom 
showed  her  in  bed,  and  Ferdinand  in  his  cot  at  the 
bed's  foot.  He  sat  down  again  at  the  table  and  re 
sumed  his  clumsy  pencil. 

It  was  midnight  before  the  two-hundred-word  pro 
duction  was  completed  and  copied.  He  put  it  into  an 
envelope,  enclosed  a  note  saying  he  expected  to  have 
the  list  of  names  over  the  following  Sunday,  and  took 
the  letter  down  and  dropped  it  into  a  mail-box. 
Then  removing  shoes,  coat,  and  collar,  he  lay  down 
on  the  sofa  with  his  overcoat  for  covering,  and 
presently  fell  asleep. 

Ruth's  heart  sank  when  she  received  the  letter  the 
next  afternoon.  Her  yesterday's  talk  with  him  had 
left  her  with  a  profound  impression  of  his  power,  and 
that  impression  had  been  fresh  all  the  morning. 
This  painfully  written  letter,  with  its  stiff,  hard 
sentences,  headed  "Save  the  Union!"  and  begin 
ning  "  Brothers,"  recalled  to  her  with  a  shock  another 


LAST    DAYS   OF    CAMPAIGN     115 

element  of  his  personality.  It  was  as  though  his 
crudity  had  dissociated  itself  from  his  other  qualities 
and  laid  itself,  bare  and  unrelieved,  before  her  eyes. 

As  she  read  the  letter  a  second  time  she  felt  a 
desire  to  improve  upon  his  sentences;  but  she  thought 
this  might  give  him  offense;  and  she  thought  also, 
and  rightly,  that  his  stilted  sentences,  rich  with  such 
epithets,  as  "  tyrant,"  "  bully,"  "  grafter,"  would 
have  a  stronger  effect  on  his  readers  than  would 
more  polished  and  controlled  language.  So  she  car 
ried  the  letter  to  the  printer  as  it  had  left  Tom's 
hand. 

She  wrote  Tom  that  Mr.  Driscoll  was  willing  her 
office  should  be  used  for  the  work  of  Sunday.  Tom's 
answer  was  on  a  postal  card  and  written  in  pencil. 
She  sighed. 

The  week  passed  rapidly  with  Tom,  the  nights  in 
canvassing,  the  days  in  work.  Every  time  he  went 
to  work,  he  did  so  half  expecting  it  would  be  his 
last  day  on  the  job.  But  all  went  well  till  Friday 
morning.  Then  the  expected  happened.  As  he 
came  up  to  the  fire-house  a  hansom  cab,  which  had 
turned  into  the  street  behind  him,  stopped  and  Foley 
stepped  out. 

"  Hold  on  there,  Keating!  "  the  walking  delegate 
called. 

Tom  paused,  three  or  four  paces  from  the  cab. 
Foley  stepped  to  his  side.  "  So  this's  where  youse  've 
sneaked  off  to  work !  " 

Tom  kept  his  square  jaw  closed. 

"  I  heard  youse  were  at  work.  I  thought  I'd 
look  youse  up  to-day.  So  I  followed  youse.  Now, 


ii6THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

are  youse  goin'  to  quit  this  job  quiet,  or  do  I  have 
to  get  youse  fired?  " 

Tom  answered  with  dangerous  restraint.  "  I 
haven't  got  anything  against  the  contractor.  And 
I  know  what  you'd  do  to  him  to  get  me  off.  I'll 

go." 

"  Move  then,  an'  quick!  " 

"  There's  one  thing  I  want  to  say  to  you  first," 
said  Tom;  and  instantly  his  right  fist  caught  the 
walking  delegate  squarely  on  the  chin.  Foley  stag 
gered  back  against  the  wheel  of  the  hansom.  With 
out  giving  him  a  second  look  Tom  turned  about  and 
walked  toward  the  car  line. 

When  Foley  recovered  himself  Tom  was  a  score 
of  paces  away.  Half  a  dozen  of  the  workmen  were 
looking  at  him  in  waiting  silence.  He  glared  at 
Tom's  broad  back,  but  made  no  attempt  to  follow. 

"  To-day  ain't  the  only  day!  "  he  said  to  the  men, 
closing  his  eyes  to  ominous  slits ;  and  he  stepped  back 
into  the  cab  and  drove  away. 

That  evening  Tom  had  an  answer  to  the  letter  he 
had  written  Mr.  Baxter,  after  having  failed  once 
more  to  find  that  gentleman  in.  It  was  of  but  a 
single  sentence. 

After  giving  thorough  consideration  to  your  suggestion,  I  have 
decided  that  it  would  be  neither  wise  nor  in  good  taste  for  me  to 
interfere  in  the  affairs  of  your  union. 

Tom  stared  at  the  letter  in  amazement.  Mr. 
Baxter  had  little  to  risk,  and  much  to  gain.  He  could 
not  understand.  But,  however  obscure  Mr.  Baxter's 
motive,  the  action  necessitated  by  his  decision  was 


LAST    DAYS   OF    CAMPAIGN     117 

as  clear  as  a  noon  sun;  a  vital  change  had  to  be  made 
in  the  letter  to  the  members  of  the  union.  Certain 
of  Mr.  Baxter's  consent,  Tom  had  set  down  the  guar 
antee  to  the  men  as  the  last  paragraph  in  the  letter 
and  had  held  the  proof  awaiting  Mr.  Baxter's  formal 
authorization  of  its  use.  He  now  cut  out  the  para 
graph  that  might  have  meant  a  thousand  votes,  and 
mailed  the  sheet  to  Ruth. 

He  talked  wherever  he  could  all  the  next  day,  and 
the  next  evening.  After  going  home  he  sat  up  till 
almost  one  o'clock  expecting  Pete  to  come  in  with 
the  roster  of  the  members.  But  Pete  did  not  ap 
pear.  Early  Sunday  morning  Tom  was  over  at  the 
Barrys'.  Pete  was  not  yet  up,  Mrs.  Barry  told  him. 
Tom  softly  opened  the  door  of  Pete's  narrow  room 
and  stepped  in.  Pete  announced  himself  asleep  by 
a  mighty  trumpeting.  Tom  shook  his  shoulders. 
He  stirred,  but  did  not  open  his  eyes.  "  Doan  wan' 
no  breakfas',"  he  said,  and  slipped  back  into  uncon 
sciousness.  Tom  shook  him  again,  without  response. 
Then  he  threw  the  covers  back  from  Pig  Iron's  feet 
and  poured  a  little  water  on  them.  Pete  sat  sud 
denly  upright;  there  was  a  meteoric  shower  of  lan 
guage;  then  he  recognized  Tom. 

u  Hello,  Tom !  What  sort  of  a  damned  society 
call  d'you  call  this?  " 

"  If  you  only  worked  as  hard  as  you  sleep,  Pete, 
you  could  put  up  a  building  alone,"  said  Tom,  ex 
asperated.  "  D'you  get  the  book?  " 

"  Over  there."  Pete  pointed  to  a  package  lying 
on  the  floor. 

Tom  picked  it  up  eagerly,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of 


uSTHE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

the  bed — Pete's  clothes  were  sprawling  over  the  only 
chair — and  hastily  opened  it.  Within  the  wrapping 
paper  was  the  secretary's  book. 

u  How'd  you  get  it,  Pete?" 

u  The  amount  o'  licker  I  turned  into  spittoons  last 
night,  Tom,  was  certainly  an  immoral  waste.  If 
I'd  put  it  where  it  belonged,  I'd  be  drunk  for  life. 
Connelly,  he'll  never  come  to.  Now,  s'pose  you 
chase  along,  Tom,  an'  let  me  finish  things  up  with 
my  bed." 

'  What  time  d'you  want  the  book  again?  " 

"  By  nine  to-night." 

;t  Will  you  have  any  trouble  putting  it  back  in 
the  office?" 

"  Sure  not.  While  I  had  Connelly's  keys  I  made 
myself  one  to  his  office.  I  took  a  blank  and  a  file 
with  me  last  night." 

At  ten  o'clock,  the  hour  agreed  upon,  Tom  was  in 
Ruth's  office.  Ruth  and  a  business-looking  woman 
of  middle  age,  who  was  introduced  as  a  Mrs.  Some 
body,  were  already  there  when  he  came.  Five  boxes 
of  envelopes  were  stacked  on  a  table,  which  had  been 
drawn  to  the  center  of  the  room,  the  letters  were  on 
a  smaller  table  against  one  wall,  and  sheets  of  stamps 
were  on  the  top  of  Ruth's  desk. 

Tom  was  appalled  when  he  saw  what  a  quantity 
twenty-five  hundred  envelopes  were.  u  What!  We 
can't  write  names  on  all  those  to-day!  " 

"  It  '11  take  the  two  of  us  about  seven  hours  with 
you  reading  the  names  to  us,"  Ruth  reassured  him, 
"  I  had  the  letters  come  folded  from  the  printers. 
We'll  put  them  in  the  envelopes  and  put  on  the 


LAST    DAYS   OF    CAMPAIGN     119 

stamps  to-morrow.  They'll  all  be  ready  for  the 
mail  Monday  night." 

Until  five  o'clock,  with  half  an  hour  off  for  lunch, 
the  two  women  wrote  rapidly,  Tom,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table,  reading  the  names  to  them  alter 
nately  and  omitting  the  names  of  the  adherents  of 
Foley. 

Now  that  she  was  with  him  again  Ruth  soon  for 
got  all  about  Tom's  crudity.  His  purposeful  power, 
which  projected  itself  through  even  so  commonplace 
an  occupation  as  reading  off  addresses,  rapidly  remade 
its  first  impression.  It  dwarfed  his  crudity  to  insig 
nificance. 

When  he  left  her  at  her  door  she  gave  him  her 
hand  with  frank  cordiality.  "  You'll  come  Thurs 
day  evening  then  to  tell  me  all  about  it  as  you  prom 
ised.  When  I  see  you  then  I'm  sure  it  will  be  to 
congratulate  you." 


Chapter  XI 
IN    FOLEY'S    "OFFICE" 

kUCK  FOLEY'S  greatest  weakness  was  the 
consciousness  of  his  strength.  Two  years 
before  he  would  have  been  a  much  more 
formidable  opponent,  for  then  he  was  alert 
for  every  possible  danger  and  would  have  put  forth 
his  full  of  strength  and  wits  to  overwhelm  an  aspir 
ing  usurper.  Now  he  was  like  the  ring  champion  of 
several  years'  standing  who  has  become  too  self-con 
fident  to  train. 

Foley  felt  such  security  that  he  made  light  of  the 
first  reports  of  Tom's  campaigning  brought  him  by 
his  intimates.  "  He  can't  touch  me,"  he  said  confi 
dently.  "  After  he  rubs  sole  leather  on  asphalt  a 
few  more  weeks,  he'll  be  so  tame  he'll  eat  out  o'  my 
hand." 

It  was  not  till  the  meeting  at  which  Tom's  ticket 
was  presented  that  Foley  awoke  to  the  possibility  of 
danger.  He  saw  that  Tom  was  tremendously  in 
earnest,  that  he  was  working  hard,  that  he  was  gain 
ing  strength  among  the  men.  If  Tom  were  to  suc 
ceed  in  getting  out  the  goody-goody  element,  or  even 
a  quarter  of  it Foley  saw  the  menacing  pos 
sibility. 

Connelly  hurried  up  to  him  at  the  close  of  the 

120 


IN    FOLEY'S   "OFFICE"         121 

meeting.  "  Say,  Buck,  this  here  looks  serious !  "  he 
whispered.  u  A  lot  o'  the  fellows  are  gettin'  scared." 

"What's  serious?" 

"  Keating's  game." 

"  I'd  forgotten  that.  I  keep  forgettin'  little 
things.  Well,  s'pose  youse  get  the  bunch  to  drop  in 
at  Mulligan's." 

Half  an  hour  later  Foley,  who  knew  the  value  of 
coming  late,  sauntered  into  the  back  room  of  Mulli 
gan's  saloon,  which  drinking-place  was  distant  two 
blocks  from  Potomac  Hall.  This  back  room  was 
commonly  known  as  "  Buck's  Office,"  for  here  he 
met  and  issued  orders  to  his  lieutenants.  It  was  a 
square  room  with  a  dozen  chairs,  three  tables,  sev 
eral  pictures  of  prize  fighters  and  several  nudes  of 
the  brewers'  school  of  art.  Connelly,  Jake  Hender 
son,  and  six  other  men  sat  at  the  tables,  beer  glasses 
before  them,  talking  with  deep  seriousness. 

Foley  paused  in  the  doorway.  "  Hello,  youse 
coffin- faces !  None  o'  this  for  mine !  "  He  started 
out. 

"Hold  on,  Buck!  "  Connelly  cried,  starting  up. 

Foley  turned  back.  "  Take  that  crape  off  your 
mugs,  then!  " 

'  We  were  talkin'  about  Keating,"  Connelly 
explained.  "  It  strikes  us  he  means  business." 

It  was  a  principle  in  Foley's  theory  of  government 
not  to  ask  help  of  his  lieutenants  in  important  affairs 
except  when  it  was  necessary;  it  fed  his  love  of  power 
to  feel  them  dependent  upon-  his  action.  But  it  was 
also  a  principle  that  they  should  feel  an  absolute  con 
fidence  in  him.  He  now  saw  dubiety  on  every  face; 


122  THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

an  hour's  work  was  marked  out.  He  sat  down,  threw 
open  his  overcoat,  put  one  foot  on  a  table  and 
tipped  back  in  his  chair.  "  Yes,  I  s'pose  Keating 
thinks  he  does  mean  business." 

With  his  eyes  fixed  carelessly  on  the  men  he  drew 
from  a  vest  pocket  a  tight  roll  of  bills,  with  100 
showing  at  either  end,  and  struck  a  match;  and  moved 
the  roll,  held  cigar-wise  between  the  first  and  second 
fingers  of  his  left  hand,  and  the  match  toward  his 
mouth.  With  a  cry  Connelly  sprang  forward  and 
seized  his  wrist. 

"  Now  what  the  hell "  Foley  began,  exas- 

peratedly.  His  eyes  fell  to  his  hand,  and  he  grinned. 
"Well!  Now  I  wonder  where  that  cigar  is."  He 
went  one  by  one  through  the  pockets  of  his  vest. 
'  Well,  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  buy  another.  Jake,  ask 
one  o'  the  salesladies  to  fetch  in  some  cabbage." 

Jake  Henderson  stepped  to  the  door  and  called  for 
cigars.  Mulligan  himself  responded,  bearing  three 
boxes  which  he  set  down  before  Foley.  "  Five,  ten 
and  fifteen,"  he  said,  pointing  in  turn  at  the  boxes. 

Foley  picked  up  the  cheapest  box  and  snuffed  at  its 
contents.  "  These  the  worst  youse  got?  " 

"  Got  some  two-fers." 

"  Um !  Make  youse  think  youse  was  rnendin'  the 
asphalt,  I  s'pose.  I  guess  these's  bad  enough.  Help 
youselves,  boys."  But  it  was  the  fifteen-cent  box  he 
started  around. 

The  men  took  one  each,  and  the  box  came  back  to 
Foley.  "  Hain't  youse  fellows  got  no  vest  pockets?  " 
he  demanded,  and  started  the  box  around  again. 

When  the  box  had  completed  its  second  circuit 


IN    FOLEY'S    "OFFICE"         i :.; 

Mulligan  took  it  and  the  two  others  and  started  out. 
41  Hold  on,  Barney,"  said  Foley.  "  What's  the  mat 
ter  with  your  beer?  " 

"  My  beer?" 

"  Been  beggin1  the  boys  to  have  some  more,  but 
they  don't  want  it." 

"  My  beer's " 

"Hi,  Barney!  Don't  youse  see  he's  shootin'  hot 
air  into  youse?"  cried  Jake  delightedly.  "Chase 
in  the  beer  1  " 

"  No,  youse  don't  have  to  drink  nothin'  youse 
don't  like.  Bring  in  some  champagne,  Barney.  I'm 
doin'  a  scientific  stunt.  I  want  to  see  what  champagne 
does  to  a  roughneck." 

"  How  much?  "  asked  Mulligan. 

"  Oh,  about  a  barrel."  He  drew  from  his  trousers 
pocket  a  mixture  of  crumpled  bills,  loose  silver,  and 
keys.  From  this  he  untangled  a  twenty-dollar  bill 
and  handed  it  to  Mulligan. 

"  Fetch  back  what  youse  don't  want.  An'  don't 
move  like  your  feet  was  roots,  neither." 

Two  minutes  later  Mulligan  returned  with  four 
quart  bottles.  Immediately  behind  him  came  a  girl 
in  the  dress  of  the  Salvation  Army.  '  Won't  you 
help  us  in  our  work?  "  she  said,  holding  her  tin  box 
out  to  Foley. 

"  Take  what  youse  want."  He  pointed  with  his 
cigar  to  the  change  Mulligan  had  just  laid  upon  the 
table. 

With  hesitation  she  picked  up  a  quarter.  "  This 
much?  "  she  asked,  smiling  doubtfully. 

"  No  wonder  youse  're  poor !  "     He  swept  all  the 


i24THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

change  into  his  palm.  "  Here !  "  and  he  thrust  it  into 
her  astonished  hands. 

After  she  had  stammered  out  her  thanks  and 
departed,  Foley  began  to  fill  the  glasses  from  a  bot 
tle  Mulligan  had  opened.  Jake,  moistening  his  lips, 
put  out  his  hand  in  mock  refusal. 

"  Only  a  drop  for  me,  Buck." 

Foley  filled  Jake's  glass  to  the  brim.  "  Well, 
there's  several.  Pick  your  choice." 

He  filled  the  other  glasses,  then  lifted  his  own  with 
a  "  Here's  how!  "  They  all  raised  the  fragile  gob 
lets  clumsily  and  emptied  them  at  a  gulp.  "  Now 
put  about  twenty  dollars'  worth  o'  grin  on  your  faces," 
Foley  requested. 

"  But  what  about  Keating? "  asked  Connelly 
anxiously,  harking  back  to  the  first  subject.  u  He's 
startin'  a  mighty  hot  fight.  An'  really,  Buck,  he's  a 
strong  man." 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  he  is."  Foley  put  one  hand  to  his 
mouth  and  yawned  mightily  behind  it.  "  But  he's 
sorter  like  a  big  friend  o'  mine  who  went  out  to  cut 
ice  in  July.  His  judgment  ain't  good." 

"  Of  course,  he  ain't  got  no  chance." 

"  The  same  my  friend  had  o'  fillin'  his  ice-house." 

"  But  it  strikes  me  we  ought  to  be  gettin'  busy," 
Connelly  persisted. 

"  See  here,  Connelly.  Just  because  I  ain't  got  a 
couple  o'  niggers  humpin'  to  keep  the  sweat  wiped 
off  me,  youse  needn't  think  I'm  loafin',"  Foley 
returned  calmly. 

The  others,  who  had  shared  Connelly's  anxiety, 
were  plainly  affected  by  Foley's  large  manner. 


IN    FOLEY'S   "OFFICE"         125 

"  Youse  can  just  bet  Buck  '11  be  there  with  the  goods 
when  the  time  comes,"  Jake  declared  confidently. 

u  That's  no  lie,"  agreed  the  others. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  doubtin'  Buck.  Never  a  once!  "  said 
Connelly.  "  But  what's  your  plans,  Buck?  " 

Foley  gazed  mysteriously  over  their  heads,  and 
slowly  blew  out  a  cloud  of  smoke.  "  Yousc  just  keep 
your  two  eyes  lookin'  my  way." 

Foley  knew  the  value  of  coming  late.  He  also 
knew  the  value  of  leaving  as  soon  as  your  point  is 
made.  His  quick  eyes  now  saw  that  he  had  restored 
the  company's  confidence ;  they  knew  he  was  prepared 
for  every  event. 

14  I  guess  I'll  pull  out,"  he  said,  standing  up. 
"  Champagne  ain't  never  been  the  same  to  me  since 
me  an'  Morgan  went  off  in  his  yacht,  an'  the  water 
give  out,  an'  we  had  to  wash  our  shirts  in  it."  He 
looked  through  the  door  into  the  bar-room.  "  Say, 
Barney,  if  these  roughnecks  want  anything  more,  just 
put  it  down  to  me."  He  turned  back  to  the  men. 
"  So-long,  boys,"  he  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand, 
and  went  out  through  the  bar-room. 

"  The  man  that  beats  Buck  Foley's  got  to  beat  five 
aces,"  declared  Jake  admiringly. 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Connelly.  "An'  he  don't  keep  a 
strangle  holt  on  his  money,  neither." 

Which  two  sentiments  were  variously  expressed 
again  and  again  before  the  bottoms  of  the  bottles 
were  reached. 

If  Foley  was  slow  in  getting  started,  he  was  not 
slow  to  act  now  that  he  was  started.  During  the  fol 
lowing  two  weeks  any  contractor  that  so  wished  could 


126  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

have  worked  non-union  men  on  his  jobs  for  all  the 
trouble  Foley  would  have  given  him.  Buck  had 
more  important  affairs  than  the  union's  affairs. 

Foley's  method  of  electioneering  was  even  more 
simple  than  Tom's.  He  saw  the  foreman  on  every 
important  job  in  the  city.  To  such  as  were  his 
friends  he  said: 

"  Any  o'  that  Keating  nonsense  bein'  talked  on 
this  job?"  If  there  was  not:  "Well,  it's  up  to 
youse  to  see  that  things  stay  that  way."  If  there 
was:  "  Shut  it  up.  If  any  o'  the  men  talk  too  loud, 
fire  'em.  If  youse  ain't  got  that  authority,  find  some- 
thin'  wrong  with  their  work  an'  get  'em  fired.  It's 
your  business  to  see  that  not  a  man  on  your  job  votes 
again'  me!  " 

To  such  few  as  he  did  not  count  among  his  friends 
he  said: 

u  Youse  know  enough  to  know  I'm  goin'  to  win. 
Youse  know  what's  the  wise  thing  for  youse  to  do, 
all  right.  I  like  my  friends,  an'  I  don't  like  the  men 
that  fight  me.  I  ain't  likely  to  go  much  out  o'  my 
way  to  help  Keating  an'  his  push.  I  think  that's 
enough,  ain't  it?  " 

It  was — especially  since  it  was  said  with  a  cold 
look  straight  into  the  other's  eyes.  An  hour's  speech 
could  not  have  been  more  effective. 

Foley  made  it  his  practice  to  see  as  many  of  the 
doubtful  workmen  as  possible  during  their  lunch 
hour.  He  had  neither  hope  nor  desire  that  they 
should  come  out  and  vote  for  him.  His  wish  was 
merely  that  they  should  not  come  out  and  vote  for 
Tom.  To  them  his  speech  was  mainly  obvious 


IN    FOLEY'S    "OFFICE"        127 

threats.  And  he  called  upon  the  rank  and  file  of  his 
followers  to  help  him  in  this  detail  of  his  campaign. 
'  Just  tell  'em  youse  think  they  won't  enjoy  the 
meetin'  very  much,"  was  his  instruction,  given  with 
a  grim  smile;  and  this  opinion,  with  effective  elabora 
tion,  his  followers  faithfully  delivered. 

When  Foley  dropped  into  his  office  on  the  Tues 
day  night  before  election  he  found  Jake,  Connelly 
and  the  other  members  of  his  cabinet  anxiously 
awaiting  him.  Connelly  thrust  a  copy  of  Tom's  letter 
into  his  hands.  "Now  wha'd'you  think  o'  that?" 
he  demanded.  "  Blamed  nigh  every  man  in  the 
union  got  one  to-night." 

As  Foley  read  the  blood  crept  into  his  face. 
"  *  Bully,'  '  blood-suckin'  grafter',  4  trade  union 
pirate',  *  come  out  and  make  him  walk  the  plank'," 
Jake  quoted  appreciatively,  watching  Foley's  face. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  end  Foley  had  regained 
his  self-control.  "  Well,  that's  a  purty  nice  piece  o' 
writin',  ain't  it,  now?"  he  said,  looking  at  the  sheet 
admiringly.  "  Didn't  know  Keating  was  buttin'  into 
literchure.  Encouragin',  ain't  it,  to  see  authors 
springin'  up  in  every  walk  o'  life.  This  here'll  get 
Keating  the  votes  o'  all  the  lit'ry  members,  sure." 

"It  '11  get  him  too  many!"  growled  Connelly 
anxiously. 

"A-a-h,  go  count  yourself,  Connelly!"  Foley 
looked  at  the  secretary  with  a  pity  that  was  akin  to 
disgust.  "  Youse  give  me  an  unpleasant  feelin'  in 
my  abdomen!  " 

He  pushed  the  letter  carelessly  across  to  Connelly. 
"  O'  course  it  '11  bring  the  boys  out,"  he  said,  in  his 


128  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

previous  pleasant  voice.  "  But  the  trouble  with  Keat 
ing  is,  he  believes  in  the  restriction  o'  output.  He 
believes  a  man  oughtn't  to  cast  more'n  one  vote  a 
day." 

But  Foley,  for  all  his  careless  jocularity,  was  aware 
of  the  seriousness  of  Tom's  last  move,  and  till  long 
after  midnight  the  cabinet  was  in  session — to  the 
great  profit  of  Barney  Mulligan's  cash  register. 


Chapter   XII 
THE   ELECTION 

>OM  set  out  for  Potomac  Hall  Wednesday 
evening  with  the  emotions  of  a  gambler 
who  had  placed  his  fortune  on  a  single 
color;  his  all  was  risked  on  the  event  of 
that  night.  However,  he  had  a  bracing  confidence 
running  through  his  agitation;  he  felt  that  he  con 
trolled  the  arrow  of  fortune.  The  man  to  man  can 
vass;  the  feminine  influence  made  operative  by  Mrs. 
Barry;  the  letters  with  which  Ruth  had  helped  him, 

these,  he  was  certain,  had  drawn  the  arrow's  head 

to  the  spot  where  rested  his  stake  and  the  union's. 

Tom  reached  the  hall  at  six-thirty.  The  polls  did 
not  open  till  seven,  but  already  thirty  or  forty  of 
Foley's  men  stood  in  knots  in  front  of  the  building. 

"Hello,  boys!  Now  don't  he  think  he's  Itl" 
said  one  admiringly. 

"  Poor  Buck!  This's  the  last  o'  him!  "  groaned 
another. 

There  was  a  burst  of  derisive  laughter,  and  each 
of  the  party  tossed  a  bit  of  language  in  his  way;  but 
Tom  made  no  answer  and  passed  them  unflinchingly. 
At  the  doorway  he  was  stopped  by  the  policeman  who 
was  regularly  stationed  at  Potomac  Hall  on  meeting 
nights. 

"  Coin'    to    have    a    fist   sociable    to-night?"1    the 
129 


130    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

policeman  asked,  anxiously  watching  the  men  in  the 
street. 

"  Can't  say,  Murphy.  Ask  Foley.  He'll  be  floor 
manager,  if  there  is  one." 

As  he  went  through  the  hallway  toward  the  stairs, 
Tom  paused  to  glance  through  a  side  door  into  the 
big  bar-room,  which,  with  a  cafe,  occupied  the  whole 
of  the  first  floor.  A  couple  of  score  of  Foley  men 
stood  at  the  bar  and  sat  about  the  tables.  It  certainly 
did  look  as  if  there  might  be  festivities. 

Tom  mounted  the  broad  stairway  and  knocked  at 
the  door  of  the  union's  hall.  Hogan,  the  sergeant- 
at-arms,  a  Foley  man,  gingerly  admitted  him.  The 
hall  in  which  he  found  himself  was  a  big  rectangular 
room,  perhaps  fifty  by  one  hundred  feet.  The  walls 
had  once  been  maroon  in  color,  and  had  a  broad 
moulding  of  plaster  that  had  been  white  and  gilt;  the 
ceiling  had  likewise  once  been  maroon,  and  was 
decorated  with  plaster  scroll-work  and  crudely 
painted  clusters  of  fruits  and  flowers — scroll-work 
and  paintings  lacking  their  one-time  freshness.  From 
the  center  of  the  ceiling  hung  a  great  ball  of  paper 
roses;  at  the  front  of  the  room  was  a  grand  piano  in 
a  faded  green  cover.  The  sign  advertising  the  hall, 
nailed  on  the  building's  front,  had  as  its  last  clause : 
u  Also  available  for  weddings,  receptions,  and  balls." 

Tom's  glance  swept  the  room.  All  was  in  readi 
ness  for  the  election.  The  floor  was  cleared  of  its 
folding  chairs,  they  being  now  stacked  at  the  rear  of 
the  room ;  down  the  hall's  middle  ran  a  row  of  tables, 
set  end  to  end,  with  chairs  on  either  side;  Bill  Jack 
son,  one  of  his  supporters,  was  at  Hogan's  elbow, 


THE   ELECTION  131 

ready  to  hand  out  the  ballots  as  the  men  were 
admitted;  the  five  tellers — Barry,  Pete,  Jake  and  two 
other  Foley  men — were  smoking  at  the  front  of  the 
room,  Jake  lolling  on  the  piano,  and  the  other  four 
on  the  platform  where  the  officers  sat  at  the  regular 
meetings. 

Tom  joined  Pete  and  Barry,  and  the  three  drew 
to  one  side  to  await  the  opening  of  the  door.  "  Any 
thing  new?"  Tom  asked. 

"  Nothin',"  answered  Pete.  "  But  say,  Tom,  that 
letter  was  certainly  hot  stuff !  IVe  heard  some  o'  the 
boys  talkin'  about  it.  They  think  it's  great.  It's 
bringin'  a  lot  o'  them  out." 

"  That's  good." 

"  An'  we're  goin'  to  win,  sure." 

Tom  nodded.  "If  Foley  don't  work  some  of  his 
tricks." 

"  Oh,  we'll  look  out  for  that,"  said  Pete  confi 
dently. 

Promptly  at  seven  o'clock  Hogan  unlocked  the 
door.  The  men  began  to  mount  the  stairway.  As 
each  man  came  to  the  door  Hogan  examined  his 
membership  card,  and,  if  it  showed  the  holder  to 
be  in  good  standing,  admitted  him.  Jackson  then 
handed  him  a  ballot,  on  which  the  names  of  all  the 
candidates  were  printed  in  a  vertical  row,  and  he 
walked  to  one  of  the  tables  and  made  crosses  before 
the  names  of  the  men  for  whom  he  desired  to  vote. 

Five  minutes  after  the  door  had  been  opened  there 
were  thirty  or  forty  men  in  the  room,  an  equal  num 
ber  of  each  party,  Foley  among  them.  Jake,  who 
was  chief  teller,  rose  at  the  center  table  on  the  plat- 


i32THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

form  to  discharge  the  formality  of  offering  the  bal 
lot-box  for  inspection.  He  unlocked  the  box,  which 
was  about  twelve  inches  square,  and  performing  a 
slow  arc  presented  the  open  side  to  the  eyes  of  the 
tellers  and  the  waiting  members.  The  box  was 
empty. 

"  All  right?"  he  asked. 

"  Sure,"  said  the  men  carelessly.  The  tellers 
nodded. 

Foley  began  the  telling  of  a  yarn,  and  was  straight 
way  the  center  of  the  group  of  voters.  In  the  mean 
time  Jake  locked  the  box  and  started  to  carry  it  to 
its  appointed  place  on  a  table  at  one  end  of  the  plat 
form,  to  reach  which  he  had  to  pass  through  the 
narrow  space  between  the  wall  and  the  chair-backs 
of  the  other  tellers.  As  he  brushed  through  this 
alley,  Tom,  whose  eyes  had  not  left  him,  saw  the 
ballot-box  turn  so  that  its  slot  was  toward  the  wall, 
and  glimpsed  a  quick  motion  of  Jake's  hand  from  a 
pocket  toward  the  slot — a  motion  wholly  of  the 
wrist.  He  sprang  after  the  chief  teller  and  seized 
his  hand. 

"  You  don't  work  that  game!  "  he  cried. 

Foley's  story  snapped  off.  His  hearers  pivoted 
to  face  the  disturbance. 

Jake  turned  about.     "What  game?" 

"  Open  your  hand !  "  Tom  demanded. 

Jake  elevated  his  big  fist,  then  opened  it.  It  held 
nothing.  He  laughed  derisively,  and  set  the  box 
down  in  its  place.  A  jeering  shout  rose  from  Foley's 
crowd. 

For  an  instant  Tom  was  taken  aback.     Then  he 


THE  ELECTION  133 

stepped  quickly  to  the  table  and  gave  the  box  a 
light  shake.  He  triumphantly  raised  it  on  high  and 
shook  it  violently.  From  it  there  came  an  unmistak 
able  rattle. 

44  This's  how  Foley'd  win !  "  he  cried  to  the  crowd. 

Jake,  his  derision  suddenly  changed  to  fury,  would 
have  struck  Tom  in  another  instant,  for  all  his  wits 
were  in  his  fists;  but  the  incisive  voice  of  Foley 
sounded  out:  "  A  clever  trick,  Keating." 

"  How's  that?  "  asked  several  men. 

44  A  trick  to  cast  suspicion  on  us,"  Foley  answered 
quietly.  44  Keating  put  'em  in  there  himself." 

Tom  stared  at  him,  then  turned  sharply  upon 
Jake.  44  Give  me  the  key.  I'll  show  who  those  bal 
lots  are  for." 

Jake,  not  understanding,  but  taking  his  cue  from 
Foley,  handed  over  the  key.  Tom  unlocked  the  box, 
and  took  out  a  handful  of  tightly-folded  ballots.  He 
opened  several  of  them  and  held  them  up  to  the 
crowd.  The  crosses  were  before  the  Foley  candi 
dates. 

44  Of  course  I  put  'em  in!"  Tom  said  sarcasti 
cally,  looking  squarely  at  Foley. 

44  O'  course  youse  did,"  Foley  returned  calmly. 
44  To  cast  suspicion  on  us.  It's  a  clever  trick,  but  it's 
what  I  call  dirty  politics." 

Tom  made  no  reply.  His  eyes  had  caught  a  slight 
bulge  in  the  pocket  of  Jake's  coat  from  which  he  had 
before  seen  Jake's  hand  emerge  ballot-laden.  He 
lunged  suddenly  toward  the  chief  teller,  and  thrust  a 
hand  into  the  pocket.  There  was  a  struggle  of  an 
instant;  the  crowd  saw  Tom's  hand  come  out  of  the 


I34THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

pocket  filled  with  packets  of  paper;  then  Tom  broke 
loose.  It  all  happened  so  quickly  that  the  crowd  had 
no  time  to  move.  The  tellers  rose  just  in  time  to  lay 
hands  upon  Jake,  who  was  hurling  himself  upon  Tom 
in  animal  fury. 

Tom  held  the  ballots  out  toward  Foley.  They 
were  bound  in  packets  half  an  inch  thick  by  narrow 
bands  of  papers  which  were  obviously  to  be  snapped 
as  the  packet  was  thrust  into  the  slot  of  the  box.  "  I 
suppose  you'll  say  now,  Buck  Foley,  that  I  put  these 
in  Henderson's  pocket!  " 

For  once  Foley  was  at  a  loss.  Part  of  the  crowd 
cursed  and  hissed  him.  His  own  men  looked  at  him 
expectantly,  but  the  trickery  was  too  apparent  for  his 
wits  to  be  of  avail.  He  glared  straight  ahead,  rolling 
his  cigar  from  side  to  side  of  his  mouth. 

Tom  tossed  the  ballots  into  the  open  box. 
"  Enough  votes  there  already  to  elect  Foley.  Now  I 
demand  another  teller  instead  of  that  man."  He 
jerked  his  head  contemptuously  toward  Jake. 

Foley's  composure  was  with  him  again.  "  Any 
thing  to  please  youse,  Tom.  I  guess  nobody's  got  a 
kick  again'  Connelly.  Connelly,  youse  take  Jake's 
place." 

As  the  exchange  was  being  made  the  Foleyites 
regarded  their  leader  dubiously;  not  out  of  disap 
proval  of  his  trickery,  but  because  his  attempted 
jugglery  had  failed.  Foley  had  recourse  again  to  his 
confidence-compelling  glance — eyes  narrowed  and 
full  of  mystery.  "  It's  only  seven-thirty,  boys !  "  he 
said  in  an  impressive  whisper,  and  turned  and  went 
out.  Jake  glowered  at  Tom  and  followed  him. 


THE  ELECTION  135 

Tom  transferred  the  ballots  from  the  box  to  his 
pockets,  locked  the  box,  turned  over  the  key  to  the 
tellers,  and  was  resuming  his  seat  when  he  saw  a 
man  of  disordered  dress  at  the  edge  of  the  platform, 
who  had  been  anxiously  awaiting  the  end  of  this 
episode,  beckoning  him.  Tom  quickly  stepped  to  his 
side.  "  What's  the  matter?  " 

"  Hell's  broke  loose  downstairs,  Tom,"  said  the 
man.  "  Come  down." 

"  Look  out  for  any  more  tricks,"  Tom  called  to 
Pete,  and  hurried  out.  The  stairway  was  held  from 
top  to  botttom  by  a  line  of  Foley  men.  Foley  sup 
porters  were  marching  up,  trading  rough  jests  with 
these  guardsmen;  but  not  a  single  man  of  his  was  on 
the  stairs.  He  saw  one  of  his  men  start  up,  and 
receive  a  shove  in  the  chest  that  sent  him  upon  his 
back.  A  laugh  rose  from  the  line.  Tom's  fists 
knotted  and  his  eyes  filled  with  fire.  The  head 
guardsman  tried  to  seize  him,  and  got  one  of  the  fists 
in  the  face. 

"  Look  out,  you !  "  He  swore  mightily  at  the 

line,  and  plunged  downward  past  the  guards,  who 
were  held  back  by  a  momentary  awe.  The  man  below 
rose  to  his  feet,  hotly  charged,  and  was  sent  stagger 
ing  again.  Tom,  descending,  caught  the  assailant  by 
the  collar,  and  with  a  powerful  jerk  sent  him  sprawl 
ing  upon  the  floor.  He  turned  fiercely  upon  the  line. 
But  before  he  could  even  speak,  half  of  it  charged 
down  upon  him,  overbore  him  and  swept  him  through 
the  open  door  into  the  street.  Then  they  melted  away 
from  him  and  returned  to  their  posts. 

Tom,  bruised  and  dazed,  would  have  followed  the 


136  THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

men  back  through  the  doorway,  but  his  eyes  came 
upon  a  new  scene.  On  his  either  hand  in  the  street, 
which  was  weakly  illumined  by  windows  and  corner 
lights,  several  scuffles  were  going  on,  six  or  seven  in 
each;  groups  of  Foley  men  were  blocking  the  way 
of  his  supporters,  and  blows  and  high  words  were 
passing;  farther  away  he  could  dimly  see  his  men 
standing  about  in  hesitant  knots — having  not  the  reck 
less  courage  to  attempt  passage  through  such  a  rowdy 
sea. 

The  policeman  was  trying  to  quell  one  of  the  scuf 
fles  \v.th  his  club.  Tom  saw  it  twisted  from  his 
hand.  Murphy  drew  his  revolver.  The  club  sent 
it  spinning.  He  turned  and  walked  quickly  out  of 
the  street. 

All  this  Tom  saw  in  two  glances.  The  man  beside 
him  swore.  "  Send  for  the  police,  Tom.  Nothing 
else  '11  save  us."  His  voice  barely  rose  above  the  cries 
and  oaths.  \ 

"  It  won't  do,  Smith.  We'd  never  hear  the  last 
of  it." 

And  yet  Tom  realized,  with  instant  quickness,  the 
hopelessness  of  the  situation.  Against  Foley's  organ 
ized  ruffianism,  holding  hall  and  street,  his  unorgan 
ized  supporters,  standing  on  the  outskirts,  could  do 
nothing.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done — to 
get  to  his  men,  organize  them  in  some  way,  wait  till 
their  number  had  grown,  and  then  march  in  a  body 
to  the  ballot-box. 

Ten  seconds  after  his  discharge  into  the  street  Tom 
was  springing  away  on  this  errand,  when  out  of  the 
tail  of  his  eye  he  saw  Foley  come  to  the  door  and 


THE  ELECTION  137 

glance  about.  He  wheeled  and  strode  up  to  the  walk 
ing  delegate. 

"  Is  this  your  only  way  of  winning  an  election?  " 
he  cried  hotly. 

"  Well !  well !  They're  mixin'  it  up  a  bit,  ain't 
they,"  Foley  drawled,  looking  over  Tom's  head. 
"That's  too  bad!" 

"  Don't  try  any  of  your  stage  business  on  me ! 
Stop  this  fighting!  " 

"What  could  I  do?"  Foley  asked  deprecatingly. 
44  If  I  tried,  I'd  only  get  my  nut  cracked."  And  he 
turned  back  into  the  hall. 

14  Come  on!  "  Tom  cried  to  Smith;  and  together 
they  plunged  eastward,  in  which  direction  were  the 
largest  number  of  Tom's  friends.  Before  they  had 
gone  a  dozen  paces  they  were  engulfed  in  the  fray. 
Several  of  his  men  swept  in  from  the  outskirts  to 
his  support;  more  Foley  men  rushed  into  the  con 
flict;  the  fight  that  had  before  been  waged  in  skir 
mishes  was  now  a  general  engagement.  For  a  space 
that  seemed  an  hour  to  Tom,  but  that  in  reality  was 
no  more  than  its  quarter,  it  was  struggle  at  the  top 
of  his  strength.  He  warded  off  blows.  He  stung 
under  fists.  He  struck  out  at  dim  faces.  He  swayed 
fiercely  in  grappling  arms.  He  sent  men  down.  He 
went  down  again  and  again  himself.  And  oaths 
were  gasped  and  shouted,  and  deep-lunged  cries  bat 
tered  riotously  against  the  street's  high  walls  .  .  . 
And  so  it  was  all  around  him — a  writhing,  striking, 
kicking,  swearing  whirlpool  of  men,  over  whose 
fierce  turbulence  fell  the  dusky  light  of  bar-room  and 
tenement  windows. 


I38  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

After  a  time,  when  his  breath  was  coming  in  gasps, 
and  his  strength  was  well-nigh  gone,  he  saw  the 
vindictive  face  of  Jake  Henderson,  with  the  bar 
room's  light  across  it,  draw  nearer  and  nearer 
through  the  struggling  mob.  If  Jake  should  reach 
him,  spent  as  he  was He  saw  his  limp,  out 
stretched  body  as  in  a  vision. 

But  Jake's  vengeance  did  not  then  fall.  Tom 
heard  a  cry  go  up  and  run  through  the  crowd: 
"  Police !  Police !  "  In  an  instant  the  whirlpool 
half  calmed.  The  cry  brought  to  their  feet  the  two 
men  who  had  last  borne  him  down.  Tom  scrambled 
up,  saw  the  mob  untangle  itself  into  individuals,  and 
saw,  turning  the  corner,  a  squad  of  policemen,  clubs 
drawn,  Murphy  marching  at  the  captain's  side. 

The  captain  drew  his  squad  up  beside  the  doorway 
of  the  hall,  and  himself  mounted  the  two  steps.  "  If 
there's  any  more  o'  this  rough  house,  I'll  run  in  every 
one  o'  you!  "  he  shouted,  shaking  his  club  at  the 
men. 

The  Foleyites  laughed,  and  defiance  buzzed 
among  them,  but  they  knew  the  better  part  of  valor. 
It  was  a  Foley  principle  to  observe  the  law  when  the 
law  is  observing  you. 

Five  minutes  later  the  captain's  threat  was  made 
even  more  potent  for  order  by  the  appearance  of  the 
reserves  from  another  precinct;  and  in  a  little  while 
still  another  squad  leaped  from  clanging  patrol 
wagons,  making  in  all  fifty  policemen  that  had 
answered  Murphy's  call.  Twenty  of  these  were 
posted  in  the  stairway,  and  the  rest  were  placed  on 
guard  in  the  street. 


THE  ELECTION  139 

A  new  order  came  from  the  bar-room,  and  Folcy's 
men  withdrew  to  beyond  the  limits  of  police  influence 
and  intercepted  the  men  coming  to  vote,  using 
blandishment  and  threats,  and  leading  some  into  the 
bar-room  to  be  further  convinced. 

Tom,  who  stood  outside  watching  the  restoration 
of  order,  now  started  back  to  the  hall.  On  the  way 
he  glanced  through  the  side  door  into  the  bar-room. 
It  was  heavy  with  smoke,  and  at  the  bar  was  a 
crowd,  with  Foley  as  its  center.  "  I  don't  know 
what  youse  think  about  Keating  callin'  in  the  police," 
he  was  saying,  "  but  youse  can  bet  I  know  what 
Buck  Foley  thinks!  A  man  that  '11  turn  the  police 
on  his  own  union!  "  And  then  as  a  fresh  group  of 
men  were  led  into  the  room:  "  Step  right  up  to  the 
counter,  boys,  an*  have  your  measure  taken  for  a 
drink.  I've  bought  out  the  place,  an'  am  givin'  it 
away.  Me  an'  Carnegie's  tryin'  to  die  poor." 

Tom  mounted  to  the  hall  with  a  secret  satisfaction 
in  the  protection  of  the  broad-chested  bluecoats  that 
now  held  the  stairway.  A  fusillade  of  remarks  from 
the  men  marking  their  ballots  greeted  his  entrance, 
but  he  passed  up  to  the  platform  without  making 
answers. 

Pete's  mouth  fell  agape  at  sight  of  him.  "  Hello! 
You  look  like  you  been  ticklin'  a  grizzly  under  the 
chin !  " 

Tom  noted  the  relishing  grins  of  the  Foley  tellers. 
"  The  trouble  downstairs  is  all  over.  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it  after  awhile,"  he  said  shortly;  and  sat  down 
just  behind  Pete  to  watch  the  voting. 

Up  to  this  time  the  balloting  had  been  light.    But 


THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

now  the  hall  began  to  fill,  and  the  voting  proceeded 
rapidly — and  orderly,  too,  thanks  to  the  policemen 
on  stairway  and  in  street.  Tom,  his  clothes  "  lookin' 
like  he  tried  to  take  'em  off  without  unbuttonin',''  as 
a  Foley  teller  whispered,  his  battered  hat  down  over 
his  eyes,  sat  tilted  against  the  wall  scanning  every 
man  that  filed  past  the  box.  As  man  after  man  had 
his  membership  card  stamped  "  voted,"  and  dropped 
in  his  ballot,  Tom's  excitement  rose,  for  he  recog 
nized  the  majority  of  the  men  that  marched  by  as  of 
his  following. 

At  nine  o'clock  Pete  leaned  far  back  in  his  chair. 
"  Lookin'  great,  ain't  it?"  he  whispered. 

"  If  it  only  keeps  up  like  this."  That  it  might 
not  was  Tom's  great  fear  now. 

"  Oh,  it  will,  don't  you  worry." 

The  line  of  voters  that  marched  by,  and  by,  bore 
out  Pete's  prediction,  as  Tom's  counting  eyes  saw. 
He  had  the  wild  exultation  and  throbbing  weakness 
of  the  man  who  is  on  the  verge  of  success.  But  the 
possibility  of  failure,  the  cause  of  his  weakness, 
became  less  and  less  as  time  ticked  on  and  the  votes 
dropped  into  the  ballot  box.  His  enthusiasm  grew. 
Dozens  of  plans  flashed  through  his  head.  But  his 
eyes  never  left  that  string  of  men  who  were  deciding 
his  fate  and  that  of  the  union. 

At  half  past  ten  Tom  was  certain  of  his  election. 
Pete  leaned  back  and  gripped  his  hand.  u  It's  a 
cinch,  Tom.  It's  a  shame  to  take  the  money,"  he 
whispered. 

Tom  acquiesced  in  Pete's  conviction  with  a  jerk  of 
his  head,  and  watched  the  passing  line,  now  grown 


THE  ELECTION  141 

thin  and  slow,  drop  in  their  ballots,  his  certainty 
growing  doubly  sure. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Foley  entered  the  hall, 
whispered  a  moment  with  Hogan  at  the  door,  a 
moment  with  Connelly,  and  then  went  out  again. 
Tom  thought  he  saw  anxiety  showing  through 
Foley's  ease  of  manner,  and  to  him  it  was  an  advance 
taste  of  triumph. 

Tom  wished  eleven  o'clock  had  come  and  the  door 
was  locked.  The  minutes  passed  with  such  exhaust 
ing  slowness.  A  straggling  voter  dropped  in  his 
ballot — and  another  straggler — and  another.  Tom 
looked  at  his  watch.  Two  minutes  had  passed  since 
Foley's  visit.  Another  straggling  voter.  And  then 
four  men  appeared  in  a  body  at  the  hall  door,  all 
apparently  the  worse  for  Foley's  hospitality.  Tom 
saw  the  foremost  present  his  card.  Hogan  glanced 
at  it,  and  handed  it  back.  "  You  can't  vote  that 
card;  it's  expired,"  Tom  heard  him  say. 

"What's  that?"  demanded  the  man,  threaten 
ingly. 

"  The  card's  expired,  I  said!  You  can't  vote  it! 
Get  out!" 

"I  can't  vote  it,  hey!"  There  was  an  oath,  a 
blow — a  surprisingly  light  blow  to  produce  such  an 
effect,  so  it  seemed  to  Tom — and  Hogan  staggered 
back  and  went  to  the  floor.  There  was  a  scuffle;  the 
tables  on  which  lay  the  ballots  toppled  over,  and  the 
ballots  went  fluttering.  By  this  time  Tom  reached 
the  door,  policemen  had  rushed  in  and  settled  the 
scuffle,  and  the  four  men  were  being  led  from  the 
room. 


i42THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

Hogan  was  unhurt,  but  Jackson  was  so  dazed  from 
a  blow  that  Tom  had  to  put  another  man  in  his 
place. 

The  minutes  moved  toward  eleven  with  slow,  tick 
ing  steps.  Two  stragglers  ...  at  long  intervals. 
At  a  few  minutes  before  eleven  the  exhausting  monot 
ony  was  enlivened  by  the  entrance  of  eight  men, 
singing  boisterously  and  jostling  each  other  in  alco 
holic  jollity.  They  marked  their  ballots  and  stag 
gered  in  a  group  to  the  ballot-box.  Two  tried  to 
deposit  their  ballots  at  once. 

"  Leave  me  alone,  will  youse !  "  cried  one,  with  an 
oath,  and  struck  at  the  other. 

The  ballot-box  slipped  across  to  the  edge  of  the 
table.  Connelly,  who  sat  just  behind  the  box,  made 
no  move  for  its  safety.  "  Hey,  stop  that!"  cried 
Pete  and  sprang  across  to  seize  it.  But  he  was  too 
late.  The  one  blow  struck,  the  eight  were  all  in 
stantly  delivering  blows,  and  pushing  and  swearing. 
The  box  was  knocked  forward  upon  the  floor,  and 
the  eight  sprawled  pell-mell  upon  it. 

Tom  and  the  tellers  sprang  from  behind  the 
tables  upon  the  scuffling  heap,  and  several  policemen 
rushed  in  from  the  hallway.  The  men,  once  dragged 
apart,  subsided  and  gave  no  trouble.  They  were 
allowed  to  drop  their  ballots  in  the  box,  now  back  in 
its  place  on  the  table,  and  were  then  led  out  in  quiet 
ness  by  the  officers. 

Pete  turned  about,  struck  with  a  sudden  fear.  "  I 
wonder  if  that  was  a  trick?  "  he  whispered. 

Tom's  face  was  pale.  The  same  fear  had  come 
to  him.  "  I  wonder!  " 


THE  ELECTION  143 

In  another  five  minutes  the  door  was  locked  and 
the  tellers  were  counting  the  ballots.  Among  the 
first  hundred  there  were  perhaps  a  score  that  bore 
no  mark  except  a  cross  before  Foley's  name.  Pete 
looked  again  at  Tom.  With  both  fear  had  been 
replaced  by  certainty. 

"The  box's  been  stuffed!"  Pete  whispered. 

Tom  nodded. 

His  only  hope  now  was  that  not  enough  false  bal 
lots  had  been  got  into  the  box  to  carry  the  election. 
But  as  the  count  proceeded,  this  hope  left  him.  And 
the  end  was  equal  to  his  worst  fears.  The  count 
stood:  for  walking  delegate,  Foley  976,  Keating 
763;  for  president,  Keating  763,  Foley's  man  595; 
all  the  other  Foley  candidates  won  by  a  slight  mar 
gin.  The  apparent  inconsistencies  of  this  count  Tom 
readily  understood  even  in  the  first  wild  minutes. 
Foley's  running  ahead  of  his  ticket  was  to  be  ex 
plained  on  the  ground  that  the  brief  time  permitted 
of  a  cross  being  put  before  his  name  alone  on  the 
false  ballots;  his  own  election  to  the  unimportant 
presidency,  and  the  failure  of  his  other  candidates, 
was  evidently  caused  by  several  of  his  followers 
splitting  their  tickets  and  voting  for  the  minor  Foley 
candidates. 

As  the  count  had  proceeded  Tom  had  exploded 
more  than  once,  and  Pete  had  made  lurid  use  of  his 
gift.  When  Connelly  read  off  the  final  results  Torn 
exploded  again. 

"  It's  an  infernal  steal!  "  he  shouted. 

"  Even  if  it  is,  what  can  we  do?  "  returned  Con 
nelly. 


144  THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

Words  ran  high.  But  Tom  quickly  saw  the  use- 
lessness  of  protests  and  accusations  at  this  time. 
His  great  desire  now  was  to  take  his  heat  and  disap 
pointment  out  into  the  street;  and  so  he  gave  evasive 
answers  to  Pete  and  Barry,  who  wanted  to  talk  it 
over,  and  made  his  way  out  of  the  hall  alone. 

Cheers  and  laughter  were  ascending  from  the  bar 
room.  As  he  was  half-way  down  the  stairs  the  door 
of  the  saloon  opened,  and  Foley  came  out  and  started 
up,  followed  by  a  number  of  men.  Among  them 
Tom  saw  several  of  the  drunken  group  that  had 
upset  the  ballot-box;  and  he  also  saw  that  they  prob 
ably  had  not  been  more  sober  in  years. 

"  Why,  hello,  Tom!  "  Foley  cried  out  on  sight  of 
him.  "  D'youse  hear  the  election  returns?" 

Tom  looked  hard  at  Foley's  face  with  its  leering 
geniality,  and  he  was  almost  overmastered  by  a  de 
sire  to  hurl  himself  upon  Foley  and  annihilate  him. 
"  You  infernal  thief!  "  he  burst  out. 

Foley  sidled  toward  him  across  the  broad  step. 
"  I'll  pass  that  by.  I  can  afford  to,  for  youse  're 
about  wiped  out.  I  guess  youse  've  had  enough." 

"  Enough?  "  cried  Tom.     "  I've  just  begun!  " 

With  that  he  brushed  by  Foley  and  passed  through 
the  door  out  into  the  street. 


Chapter  XIII 
THE   DAY  AFTER 

distance  to  Tom's  home  was  half  a 
hundred  blocks,  but  he  chose  to  walk. 
Anger,  disappointment,  and  underlying 
these  the  hopeless  sense  of  being  barred 
from  his  trade,  all  demanded  the  sympathy  of  physi 
cal  exertion — and,  too,  there  was  the  inevitable 
meeting  with  his  wife.  Walking  would  give  him  an 
hour  before  that. 

It  was  after  one  when  he  opened  the  hall  door 
and  stepped  into  his  flat.  Through  the  dining-room 
he  could  see  the  gas  in  the  sitting-room  was  turned 
down  to  a  point,  and  could  see  Maggie  lying  on  the 
couch,  a  flowered  comforter  drawn  over  her.  He 
guessed  she  had  stayed  up  to  wait  for  his  report. 
He  listened.  In  the  night's  dead  stillness  he  could 
faintly  hear  her  breath  come  deep  and  regular.  Seiz 
ing  at  the  chance  of  postponing  the  scene,  he  cautiously 
closed  the  hall  door,  and,  sitting  down  on  a  chair 
beside  it,  removed  his  shoes.  He  crossed  on  tip 
toe  toward  their  bedroom,  but  its  door  betrayed 
him  by  a  creak.  He  turned  quickly  about.  There 
was  Maggie,  propped  up  on  one  arm,  the  comforter 
thrown  back. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  space  without  speaking. 
145 


146  THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

Through  all  his  other  feelings  Tom  had  a  sense  that 
he  made  anything  but  a  brave  figure,  standing  in  his 
stocking  feet,  his  shoes  in  one  hand,  hat  and  over 
coat  on. 

"  Well?  "  she  demanded  at  length. 

Tom  returned  her  fixed  gaze,  and  made  no  reply 
to  her  all-inclusive  query. 

Her  hands  gripped  her  covering.  She  gave  a 
gasp.  Then  she  threw  back  the  comforter  and 
slipped  to  her  feet. 

"  I  understand!"  she  said.  "  Everything  1  I  knew 
it!  O-o-h!  "  There  were  more  resentment  and  re 
crimination  packed  into  that  prolonged  "  oh  "  than 
she  could  have  put  into  an  hour's  upbraiding. 

Tom  kept  himself  in  hand.  He  knew  the  futility 
of  explanation,  but  he  explained.  "  I  won,  fairly. 
But  Foley  robbed  me.  He  stuffed  the  ballot-box." 

"  It  makes  no  difference  how  you  lost !  You  lost ! 
That's  what  I've  got  to  face.  You  know  I  didn't 
want  you  to  go  into  this.  I  knew  you  couldn't  win. 
I  knew  Foley  was  full  of  tricks.  But  you  went  in. 
You  lost  wages.  You  threw  away  money — our 
money !  And  what  have  you  got  to  show  for  it  all?  " 

Tom  let  her  words  pass  in  silence.  On  his  long 
walk  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  bear  her  fury 
quietly. 

"  Oh,  you!"  she  cried  through  clenched  teeth, 
stamping  a  bare  foot  on  the  floor.  c  You  do  what 
you  please,  and  I  suffer  for  it.  You  wouldn't  take 
my  advice.  And  now  you're  out  of  a  job  and  can't 
get  one  in  your  trade.  How  are  we  to  live?  Tell 
me  that,  Tom  Keating?  How  are  we  to  live?" 


THE    DAY   AFTER  147 

Only  the  word  he  had  passed  with  himself  enabled 
Tom  to  hold  himself  in  after  this  outburst.  "  I'll 
find  work." 

"  Find  work!    A  hod-carrier!    Oh,  my  God!  " 

She  turned  and  flung  herself  at  full  length  upon 
the  couch,  and  lay  there  sobbing,  her  hands  passion 
ately  gripping  the  comforter. 

Tom  silently  watched  the  workings  of  her  passion 
for  a  moment.  He  realized  the  measure  of  right 
on  her  side,  and  his  sense  of  justice  made  his  spirit 
unbend.  "  If  we  have  to  live  close,  it  '11  only  be  for  a 
time,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  my  God!  "  she  moaned. 

He  grimly  turned  and  went  into  the  bedroom. 
After  a  while  he  came  out  again.  She  had  drawn 
the  comforter  over  her,  but  her  irregular  breathing 
told  him  she  was  still  awake. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  to  bed?  "  be  asked. 

She  made  no  answer,  and  he  went  back.  For  half 
an  hour  he  tossed  about.  Then  he  came  into  the  sit 
ting-room  again.  Her  breath  was  coming  quietly 
and  regularly.  He  sat  down  and  gazed  at  her  hand 
some  face  for  a  long,  long  time,  with  misty,  wonder 
ing  thoughts.  Then  he  rose  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh, 
took  part  of  the  covering  from  the  bed,  and  spread 
it  over  her  sleeping  figure. 

He  tossed  about  long  before  he  fell  into  a  rest 
less  sleep.  It  was  early  when  he  awoke.  He 
looked  into  the  sitting-room.  Maggie  was  still 
sleeping.  He  quickly  dressed  himself  in  his  best 
suit  (the  one  he  had  had  on  the  night  before  was 
beyond  further  wearing),  noting  with  surprise  that 


i48THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

his  face  bore  few  marks  of  conflict,  and  stole  quietly 
out. 

•  Tom's  disappointment  and  anger  were  too  fresh 
to  allow  him  to  put  his  mind  upon  plans  for  the 
future.  All  day  he  wandered  aimlessly  about,  talk 
ing  over  the  events  of  the  previous  night  with  such 
of  his  friends  as  chance  put  in  his  path.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  he  met  Pete  and  Barry,  who  had  been  look 
ing  for  work  since  morning.  They  sat  down  in  a 
saloon  and  talked  about  the  election  till  dinner  time. 
It  was  decided  that  Tom  should  protest  the  election 
and  appeal  to  the  union — a  move  they  all  agreed 
had  little  promise.  Tom  found  a  soothing  gratifica 
tion  in  Pete's  verbal  handling  of  the  affair;  there  was 
an  ease,  a  broadness,  a  completeness,  to  Pete's  pro 
fanity  that  left  nothing  to  be  desired;  so  that  Tom 
was  prompted  to  remark,  with  a  half  smile:  "If 
there  was  a  professorship  of  your  kind  of  English 
over  at  Columbia  University,  Pete,  you'd  never  have 
to  put  on  overalls  again." 

Tom  had  breakfasted  in  a  restaurant,  and  lunched 
in  a  restaurant,  and  after  Pete  and  Barry  left  he  had 
dinner  in  one.  It  was  a  cheap  and  meager  meal; 
with  his  uncertain  future  he  felt  it  wise  to  begin  to 
count  every  cent.  Afterwards  he  walked  about  the 
streets  till  eight,  bringing  up  at  Ruth's  boarding- 
house.  The  colored  maid  who  answered  his  ring 
brought  back  the  message:  "  Miss  Arnold  says  will 
you  please  come  up." 

He  mounted  the  stairway  behind  the  maid.  Ruth 
was  standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  awaiting 
him. 


THE   DAY   AFTER  149 

She  wore  a  loose  white  gown,  held  in  at  the  waist 
by  a  red  girdle,  and  there  was  a  knot  of  red  in  her 
heavy  dark  hair.  Tom  felt  himself  go  warm  at 
sight  of  her,  and  there  began  a  throbbing  that  beat 
even  in  his  ears. 

14  You  don't  mind  my  receiving  you  in  my  room, 
do  you?  "  she  said,  opening  her  door,  after  she  had 
greeted  him. 

4  Why,  no,"  said  Tom,  slightly  puzzled.  His 
acquaintance  with  the  proprieties  was  so  slight  that 
he  did  not  know  she  was  then  breaking  one. 

She  closed  the  door.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  I 
know  what  happened  last  night;  we  heard  at  the 
office."  She  held  out  her  hand  again.  The  grip 
was  warm  and  full  of  sympathy. 

The  hand  sent  a  thrill  through  Tom.  In  his 
fresh  disappointment  it  was  just  this  intelligent  sym 
pathy  that  he  was  hungry  for.  For  a  moment  he 
was  unable  to  speak  or  move. 

She  gently  withdrew  her  hand.  "  But  we  heard 
only  the  bare  fact.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  the  whole 
story." 

Tom  laid  his  hat  and  overcoat  upon  the  couch, 
which  had  a  dull  green  cover,  glancing,  as  he  did 
so,  about  the  room.  There  were  a  few  prints  of 
good  pictures  on  the  walls;  a  small  case  of  books;  a 
writing  desk;  and  in  one  corner  a  large  screen  whose 
dominant  color  was  a  dull  green.  The  thing  that 
struck  him  most  was  the  absence  of  the  knick-knack- 
cry  with  which  his  home  was  decorated.  Tom  was 
not  accustomed  to  give  attention  to  his  surroundings, 
but  the  room  pleased  him;  and  yet  it  was  only  an 


150    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

ordinary  boarding-house  room,  plus  the  good  taste 
of  a  tasteful  woman. 

Tom  took  one  of  the  two  easy  chairs  in  the  room, 
and  once  again  went  over  the  happenings  of  the  pre 
vious  night.  She  interrupted  again  and  again  with 
indignant  exclamations. 

"  Why,  you  didn't  lose  at  all!  "  she  cried,  when 

he  had  finished  the  episode  of  the  eight  drunken  men. 

'  You  won,  and  it  was  stolen  from  you!    Your  Mr. 

Foley  is  a — a "  Whichever  way  she  turned  for 

an  adequate  word  she  ran  against  a  restriction  bar 
ring  its  use  by  femininity.  "  A  robber!  "  she  ended. 

"  But  aren't  you  going  to  protest  the  election?  " 

"  I  shall — certainly.  But  there's  mighty  little 
chance  of  the  result  being  changed.  Foley  '11  see  to 
that." 

He  tried  to  look  brave,  but  Ruth  guessed  the  bit 
terness  within.  She  yearned  to  have  him  talk  over 
things  with  her;  her  sympathy  for  him  now  that  she 
beheld  him  dispirited  after  a  daring  fight  was  even 
warmer  than  when  she  had  seen  him  pulsing  with 
defiant  vigor.  '  Won't  you  tell  me  what  you  are 
going  to  do?  If  you  don't  mind." 

"  I'd  tell  if  I  knew.  But  I  hardly  have  my  bear 
ings  yet." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  can't  work  at  your  trade?  " 

"  Not  unless  I  kiss  Foley's  shoes." 

She  did  not  like  to  ask  him  if  he  were  going  to 
give  in,  but  the  question  was  in  her  face,  and  he 
saw  it. 

"  I'm  not  that  bad  licked  yet." 

"  There's  Mr.  Driscoll's  offer,"  she  suggested. 


THE    DAY   AFTER  151 

"  Yes.  I've  thought  of  that.  I  don't  know  what 
move  I'll  make  next.  I  don't  just  see  now  how  I'm 
going  to  keep  at  the  fight,  but  I'm  not  ready  to  give 
it  up.  If  I  took  Mr.  Driscoll's  job,  I'd  have  to  drop 
the  fight,  for  I'd  practically  have  to  drop  out  of  the 
union.  If  the  protest  fails — well,  we'll  see." 

Ruth  looked  at  him  thoughtfully,  and  she  thrilled 
with  a  personal  pride  in  him.  He  had  been  beaten; 
the  days  just  ahead  looked  black  for  him;  but  his 
spirit,  though  exhausted,  was  unbroken.  As  a  result 
of  her  experience  she  was  beginning  to  regard  busi 
ness  as  being  largely  a  compromise  between  self- 
respect  and  profit.  In  Tom's  place  she  guessed  what 
Mr.  Baxter  would  do,  and  she  knew  what  Mr.  Dris- 
coll  would  do;  and  the  thing  they  would  do  was  not 
the  thing  that  Tom  was  doing.  And  she  wondered 
what  would  be  the  course  of  Mr.  Berman. 

At  the  moment  of  parting  she  said  to  him,  in  her 
frank,  impulsive  way:  "  I  think  you  are  the  bravest 
man  I  have  ever  known."  He  could  only  stumble 
away  from  her  awkwardly,  for  to  this  his  startled 
brain  had  no  proper  answer.  His  courage  began  to 
bubble  back  into  him;  and  the  warmth  aroused  by  her 
words  grew  and  grew — till  he  drew  near  his  home, 
and  then  a  chill  began  to  settle  about  him. 

Maggie  was  reading  the  installment  of  a  serial 
story  in  an  evening  paper  when  he  came  in.  She 
glanced  up,  then  quickly  looked  back  at  her  paper 
without  speaking. 

He  started  into  the  bedroom  in  silence,  but  paused 
hesitant  in  the  doorway  and  looked  at  her.  "  What 
are  you  reading,  Maggie?  " 


152  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  The  Scarlet  Stain." 

He  held  his  eyes  upon  her  a  moment  longer,  and 
then  with  a  sigh  went  into  the  bedroom  and  lit  the 
gas.  The  instant  he  was  gone  from  the  doorway 
Maggie  took  her  eyes  from  the  story  and  listened 
irresolutely.  All  day  her  brain  had  burnt  with  angry 
thoughts,  and  all  day  she  had  been  waiting  the  chance 
to  speak.  But  her  obstinate  pride  now  strove  to  keep 
her  tongue  silent. 

"  Tom !  "  she  called  out,  at  length. 

He  appeared  in  the  doorway.      *  Yes." 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  space.  "  I  don't  just  know 
yet." 

"  I  know,"  she  said  in  a  voice  she  tried  to  keep  cold 
and  steady.  "  There's  only  one  thing  for  you  to  do. 
That's  to  get  on  the  square  with  Foley." 

Their  eyes  met.    Hers  were  cold,  hard,  rebellious. 

"  I'll  think  it  over,"  he  said  quietly;  and  went  back 
into  the  bedroom. 


Chapter  XIV 
NEW  COURAGE  AND  NEW  PLANS 


next  morning  after  breakfast  Tom  sat 
down  to  take  account  of  his  situation. 
But  his  wife's  sullen  presence,  as  she 
cleared  away  the  dishes,  suffocated  his 
thoughts.  He  went  out  and  walked  south  a  few 
blocks  to  a  little  park  that  had  formerly  served  the 
neighborhood  as  a  burying-ground.  A  raw  wind  was 
chattering  among  the  bare  twigs  of  the  sycamore 
trees;  the  earth  was  a  rigid  shell  from  the  night's 
frost,  and  its  little  squares  and  oblongs  of  grass  were 
a  brownish-gray;  the  sky  was  overcast  with  gray 
clouds.  The  little  park,  this  dull  March  day,  was 
hardly  more  cheerful  than  the  death  it  had  erewhile 
housed,  but  Tom  sat  down  in  its  midst  with  a  sense 
of  grateful  relief. 

His  mind  had  already  passed  upon  Maggie's  de 
mand  of  the  previous  evening.  But  would  it  avail 
to  continue  the  fight  against  Foley?  He  had  slept 
well,  and  the  sleep  had  strengthened  his  spirit  and 
cleared  his  brain;  and  Ruth's  recurring  words,  "  I 
think  you  are  the  bravest  man  I  have  ever  known,  " 
were  to  him  a  determining  inspiration.  He  went 
over  the  situation  detail  by  detail,  and  slowly  a  new 
plan  took  shape. 

153 


I54THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

Foley  had  beaten  him  by  a  trick.  In  six  months 
there  would  be  another  election.  He  would  run 
again,  and  this  next  time,  profiting  by  his  dear  expe 
rience  of  Wednesday  night,  he  would  see  that  guard 
was  set  against  every  chance  for  unfair  play.  Dur 
ing  the  six  months  he  would  hammer  at  Foley's  every 
weak  spot,  and  emphasize  to  the  union  the  discredit 
of  Foley's  discreditable  acts. 

He  would  follow  up  his  strike  agitation.  He  had 
already  put  Foley  into  opposition  to  a  demand  for 
more  money.  If  he  could  induce  the  union  to  make 
the  demand  in  the  face  of  Foley's  opposition  it  would 
be  a  telling  victory  over  the  walking  delegate.  Per 
haps,  even,  he  might  head  the  management  of  the 
strike — if  it  came  to  a  strike.  And  if  the  strike  were 
won,  it  would  be  the  complete  undoing  of  Foley.  As 
for  Maggie,  she  would  oppose  the  plan,  of  course,  but 
once  he  had  succeeded  she  would  approve  what  he 
had  done.  In  the  meantime  he  would  have  to  work 
at  some  poorly  paid  labor,  and  appease  her  as  best 
he  could. 

At  dinner  that  night  little  was  said,  till  Maggie 
asked  with  a  choking  effort:  "  Did  you  see  Foley 
to-day  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Tom.  He  ate  a  mouthful,  then  laid 
down  knife  and  fork,  and  looked  firmly  into  her  face. 
"  I  didn't  try  to  see  him.  And  I  might  as  well  tell 
you,  Maggie,  that  I'm  not  going  to  see  him." 

"  You'll  not  see  him?  "  she  asked  in  a  dry  voice. 
"You'll  not  see  him?" 

"  Most  likely  it  would  not  do  any  good  if  I  did  see 
him.  You  mark  what  I  say,  Maggie,"  he  went  on, 


NEW   COURAGE  AND   PLANS     155 

hopefully.  "  Folcy  thinks  I'm  down,  and  you  do,  too, 
but  in  a  few  months  things  '11  be  better  than  they  ever 
were.  We  may  see  some  hard  times — but  in  the 
end!" 

"  You  were  just  that  certain  last  week.  But  how'll 
we  live?" 

"  I'll  find  some  sort  of  a  temporary  job." 

She  looked  at  him  tensely;  then  she  rose  abruptly 
and  carried  her  indignant  grief  into  the  kitchen.  She 
had  decided  that  he  must  be  borne  with.  But  would 
he  never,  never  come  to  his  senses ! 

After  he  had  finished  his  dinner,  which  had  been 
ready  earlier  than  usual,  Tom  hurried  to  the  Barrys', 
and  found  the  family  just  leaving  the  table.  He 
rapidly  sketched  his  new  plan. 

'  You're  runnin'  again'  Foley  again  in  six  months 
is  all  right,  but  where's  the  use  our  tryin'  to  get  more 
money?  "  grumbled  Pete.  "  Suppose  we  fight  hard 
an'  win  the  strike.  What  then?  We  get  nothin' 
out  of  it.  Foley  won't  let  us  work." 

41  Oh,  talk  like  a  man,  Pete!"  requested  Mrs. 
Barry.  '  You  know  you  don't  think  that  way." 

'*  If  we  win  the  strike,  with  Foley  against  it,  it  '11 
be  the  end  of  him,"  said  Tom,  in  answer  to  Pete. 

"  But  suppose  things  turn  out  with  Foley  in  con 
trol  o'  the  strike?  "  questioned  Barry. 

"  That  won't  happen.  But  if  it  would,  he'd  run  it 
all  on  the  square.  And  he'd  manage  it  well,  too.  You 
know  what  he  has  done.  Well,  he'd  do  the  same 
again  if  he  was  forced  into  a  fight. 

"  It  won't  be  hard  to  work  the  men  up  to  make  the 
demand  for  an  increase,"  Tom  went  on.  "  All  the 


156  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

men  who  voted  for  me  are  in  favor  of  it,  and  a  lot 
more,  too.  All  we've  got  to  do  is  to  stir  them  up  a 
bit,  and  get  word  to  them  to  come  out  on  a  certain 
night.  Foley  '11  hardly  dare  put  up  a  fight  against  us 
in  the  open." 

'  Whoever  runs  the  strike,  we  certainly  ought  to 
have  more  money,"  said  Mrs.  Barry  decidedly. 

"  And  the  bosses  can  afford  to  give  us  more," 
declared  Tom.  "  They've  never  made  more  than 
they  have  the  last  two  years." 

"  Sure,  they  could  divide  a  lot  o'  the  money  we've 
made  with  us,  an'  still  not  have  to  button  up  their 
own  clothes,"  averred  Mrs.  Barry. 

"  Oh,  I  dunno,"  said  Pete.  "  They're  hard  up, 
just  the  same  as  us.  What's  a  hundred  thousand 
when  you've  got  to  spend  money  on  yachts,  cham 
pagne  an'  Newport,  an'  other  necessities  o'  life?  The 
last  time  I  was  at  the  Baxters',  Mrs.  Baxter  was  set- 
tin'  at  the  kitchen  table  figgerin'  how  she  could  make 
over  the  new  dress  she  had  last  summer  an'  wonderin' 
how  she'd  ever  pay  the  gas  bill." 

Mrs.  Barry  grunted. 

"  I  got  a  picture  o'  her!  " 

Tom  brought  the  talk  back  to  bear  directly  upon 
his  scheme,  and  soon  after  left,  accompanied  by  Pete, 
to  begin  immediately  his  new  campaign. 

As  soon  as  they  had  gone  Mrs.  Barry  turned  eag 
erly  to  her  husband.  "  If  we  get  that  ten  per  cent, 
raise,  Henry  won't  have  to  go  to  work  when  he's 
fourteen  like  we  expected." 

"  Yes.     I  was  thinkin'  o'  that." 

"  An'  we  could  keep  him  in  school  mebbe  till  he's 


NEW   COURAGE  AND   PLANS     157 

eighteen.  Then  he  could  get  a  place  in  some  office 
or  business.  By  that  time  Annie  '11  be  old  enough  to 
go  to  normal  college.  She  can  go  through  there  and 
learn  to  be  a  teacher." 

"  An'  mebbe  I  can  get  you  some  good  clothes,  like 
I've  always  wanted  to." 

"  Oh,  you!  D'you  think  you  can  buy  everything 
with  seventy  dollars !  "  She  leaned  over  with  glow 
ing  eyes  and  kissed  him. 

Rapid  work  was  required  by  the  new  campaign, 
for  Tom  had  settled  upon  the  first  meeting  in  April 
as  the  time  when  he  would  have  the  demand  for  more 
wages  put  to  a  vote.  The  new  campaign,  however, 
would  be  much  easier  than  the  one  that  had  just 
come  to  so  disastrous  an  ending.  As  he  had  said,  the 
men  were  already  eager  to  make  the  demand  for  more 
money;  his  work  was  to  unite  this  sentiment  into  a 
movement,  and  to  urge  upon  the  men  that  they  be 
out  to  vote  on  the  first  Wednesday  in  April. 

Tom's  first  step  was  to  enlist  the  assistance  of  the 
nine  other  men  who  had  helped  him  in  his  fight 
against  Foley.  He  found  that  the  vengeance  of  the 
walking  delegate  had  been  swift;  seven  had  abruptly 
lost  their  jobs.  When  he  had  explained  his  new  plan, 
eight  of  the  nine  were  with  him.  The  spirit  of  the 
ninth  was  gone. 

"I've  had  enough,"  he  said  bitterly.  "If  I 
hadn't  mixed  in  with  you,  I'd  be  all  right  now." 
Upon  this  man  Tom  promptly  turned  his  back.  He 
was  an  excellent  ally  to  be  without. 

Tom,  with  Pete,  Barry,  and  his  eight  other  helpers, 
began  regularly  to  put  in  each  evening  in  calling  upon 


158    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

the  members  of  the  union.  Every  man  they  saw  was 
asked  to  talk  to  others.  And  so  the  word  spread  and 
spread. 

And  to  Foley  it  came  among  the  first.  Jake  Hen 
derson  heard  it  whispered  about  the  St.  Etienne  Hotel 
Saturday,  and  when  the  day's  work  was  done  he  hur 
ried  straight  to  Foley's  home  in  order  to  be  certain 
of  catching  Buck  when  he  came  in  to  dinner.  He  had 
to  wait  half  an  hour,  but  that  time  was  not  unpleas 
antly  spent,  inasmuch  as  Mrs.  Foley  set  forth  a  bottle 
of  beer. 

When  Foley  caught  the  tenor  of  Jake's  story  his 
face  darkened  and  he  let  out  an  oath.  But  imme 
diately  thereafter  he  caught  hold  of  his  excitement. 
While  Jake  talked  Foley's  mind  worked  rapidly.  He 
did  not  want  a  strike  for  three  sufficient  reasons.  First 
of  all,  that  the  move  was  being  fathered  by  Tom  was 
enough  to  make  him  its  opponent.  Secondly,  he  had 
absolutely  nothing  to  gain  from  a  strike;  his  power 
was  great,  and  even  a  successful  strike  could  not  add 
to  it.  And  last,  he  would  lose  financially  by  it;  his 
arrangement  with  Baxter  and  one  or  two  other  con 
tractors  would  come  to  an  end,  and  in  the  manage 
ment  of  a  general  strike  so  many  persons  were 
involved  that  he  would  have  no  chance  to  levy  tribute. 

Before  Jake  had  finished  his  rather  long-winded 
account  Foley  cut  him  short.  "  Yes.  I'm  glad  youse 
come  in.  I  was  goin'  to  send  for  youse  to-night  about 
this  very  thing." 

"  What!    Youse  knew  all  about  it  already?  " 

Foley  looked  surprise  at  him.  "  D'youse  think  I 
do  nothin'  but  sleep?  " 


NEW   COURAGE  AND   PLANS     159 

"  Nobody  can't  tell  youse  anything,"  said  Jake 
admiringly.  "  Youse  're  right  up  to  the  minute." 

"  Some  folks  find  me  a  little  ahead."  He  pulled 
at  his  cigar.  "  I  got  a  little  work  for  youse  an'  your 
bunch." 

Jake  sprang  up  excitedly.     "  Not  Keating?  " 

"  If  youse  could  guess  that  well  at  the  races  youse  'd 
always  pick  the  winner.  This  business's  got  to  stop, 
an'  I  guess  that's  the  easiest  way  to  stop  it."  And, 
Foley  might  have  added,  the  only  way. 

41  He  ought  to've  had  it  long  ago,"  said  Jake,  with 
conviction. 

u  He'll  enjoy  it  all  the  more  for  havin'  to  wait  for 
it."  He  stood  up,  and  Jake,  accepting  his  dismissal, 
took  his  hat.  "  Youse  have  a  few  o'  the  boys  around 
to-night,  an'  I'll  show  up  about  ten.  Four  or  five 
ought  to  be  enough — say  Arkansas,  Smoky,  Kaffir 
Bill,  and  Hickey." 

Foley  saw  Connelly  and  two  or  three  other  mem 
bers  of  his  cabinet  during  the  evening,  and  gave 
orders  that  the  word  was  to  go  forth  among  his  fol 
lowers  that  he  was  against  Keating's  agitation;  he 
knew  the  inside  facts  of  present  conditions,  and  knew 
there  was  no  chance  of  winning  a  strike.  At  ten 
o'clock  he  sauntered  into  the  rear  room  of  Mulli 
gan's  saloon.  Five  men  were  playing  poker.  With 
the  exception  of  one  they  were  a  group  to  make  an 
honest  man  fall  to  his  knees  and  quickly  confess  his 
sins.  Such  a  guileless  face  had  the  one  that  the  honest 
man  would  have  been  content  with  him  as  confessor. 
In  past  days  the  five  had  worked  a  little,  each  in  his 
own  part  of  the  world,  and  not  liking  work  had  pro- 


i6oTHE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

cured  their  living  in  more  congenial  ways;  and  on 
landing  in  New  York,  in  the  course  of  their  wander 
ings,  they  had  been  gathered  in  by  Foley  as  suited  to 
his  purpose. 

"  Hello,  Buck!  "  they  called  out  at  sight  of  Foley. 

"  Hello,  gents,"  he  answered.  He  locked  the  door 
with  a  private  key,  and  kicked  a  chair  up  to  the  table. 

"  Say,  Buck,  I  got  a  thirst  like  a  barrel  o'  lime," 
remarked  he  of  the  guileless  face,  commonly  known 
as  Arkansas  Number  Two.  "  D'you  know  anything 
good  for  it?  " 

"  The  amount  o'  money  I  spend  in  a  year  on  other 
men's  drinks  'd  support  a  church,"  Foley  answered. 
But  he  ordered  a  quart  of  whisky  and  glasses. 
"  Now  let's  get  to  business,"  he  said,  when  they  had 
been  placed  on  the  table.  "  I  guess  youse  Ve  got  an 
idea  in  your  nuts  as  to  what's  doin'?  " 

"  Jake  put  us  next,"  grinned  Kaffir  Bill.  "  Keat 
ing." 

"  Yes.  He's  over-exertin'  his  throat.  He's  likely 
to  spoil  his  voice,  if  we  don't  sorter  step  in  an'  stop 
him." 

"  But  Jake  didn't  tell  us  how  much  youse  wanted 
him  to  have,"  said  Kaffir  Bill.  "  Stiff?  " 

"  Not  much.  Don't  youse  remember  when  youse 
made  an  undertaker's  job  out  o'  Fleischmann?  An' 
how  near  youse  come  to  takin'  the  trip  to  Sing  Sing? 
We  don't  want  any  more  risks  o'  that  sort.  Leave 
your  guns  at  home."  Foley  gulped  down  the  raw 
whisky.  "  A  couple  months'  vacation  'd  be  about 
right  for  Keating.  It  'd  give  him  a  chance  to  get 
acquainted  with  his  wife." 


NEW   COURAGE  AND   PLANS     161 

He  drew  out  a  cigar  and  fitted  it  to  one  corner  of 
his  mouth.  "  He's  left  handed,  youse  know.  An' 
anyhow  he  works  mostly  with  his  mouth." 

"  An'  he's  purty  chesty,"  said  Jake,  following  up 
Foley's  cue  with  a  grin. 

u  That's  the  idea,"  said  Foley.  "  A  wing,  an'  say 
two  or  three  slats.  Or  a  leg." 

The  five  understood  and  pledged  the  faithful  dis 
charge  of  their  trust  in  a  round  of  drinks. 

44  But  what's  in  it  for  us?  "  asked  Arkansas  Num 
ber  Two. 

"  It's  an  easy  job.  Youse  get  him  in  a  fight,  he 
goes  down;  youse  do  the  business  with  your  feet. 
Say  ten  apiece.  That's  plenty." 

u  Is  that  all  it's  worth  to  you?  "  Arkansas  asked 
cunningly. 

"  Make  it  twenty-five,  Buck,"  petitioned  Kaffir 
Bill.  "  We  need  the  coin.  What's  seventy-five  more 
to  youse?  " 

The  other  four  joined  in  the  request. 

"  Well,  if  I  don't  I  s'pose  every  son-of-a-gun  o' 
youse  '11  strike,"  said  Foley,  assuming  the  air  of  a 
defeated  employer.  u  All  right — for  this  once.  But 
this  ain't  to  be  the  regular  union  rate." 

"  You're  all  to  the  good,  Buck!  "  the  five  shouted. 

Foley  rose  and  started  out.  At  the  door  he  paused. 
*  Youse  can't  ask  me  for  the  coin  any  too  soon,"  he 
said  meaningly. 

The  five  held  divergent  opinions  upon  many  sub 
jects,  but  upon  one  point  they  were  as  one  mind — 
esteem  for  the  bottle.  So  when  Buck's  quart  of 
whisky  was  exhausted  they  unanimously  decided  to 


162  THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

remove  themselves  to  Potomac  Hall,  in  whose  bar 
room  there  usually  could  be  found  someone  that, 
after  a  dark  glance  or  two,  was  delighted  to  set  out 
the  drinks. 

They  quickly  found  a  benefactor  in  the  person 
of  Johnson,  also  a  devotee  of  the  bottle.  They 
were  disposing  of  the  third  round  of  drinks  when 
Pete,  who  had  been  attending  a  meeting  of  the  Mem 
bership  Committee  of  the  union,  passed  through  the 
bar-room  on  his  way  out.  Jake  saw  him,  and,  three 
parts  drunk,  could  not  resist  the  opportunity  for 
advance  satisfaction.  u  Hold  on,  Pig  Iron,"  he 
called  after  him. 

Pete  stopped,  and  Jake  walked  leeringly  up  to 

him.  "  This  here  "  the  best  Jake  could  do  in 

the  way  of  profanity,  "  Keating  is  goin'  to  get  what's 
comin'  to  him !  "  Jake  ended  with  a  few  more  selec 
tions  from  his  repertoire  of  swear-words. 

Pete  retorted  in  kind,  imperatively  informing  Jake 
that  he  knew  where  he  could  go,  and  walked  away. 
Pete  recognized  the  full  meaning  of  Jake's  words; 
and  a  half  hour  later  he  was  knocking  on  Tom's  door. 
He  found  a  tall,  raw-boned  man  sitting  in  one  of 
Tom's  chairs.  Maggie  had  gone  to  bed. 

"  Shake  hands  with  Mr.  Petersen,  Pete,"  said 
Tom  sleepily.  "  He's  just  come  into  the  union." 

"  Glad  to  know  you,"  said  Pete,  and  offered  a  hand 
to  the  Swede,  who  took  it  without  a  word.  He  turned 
immediately  about  on  Tom.  "  I  guess  you're  in 
for  your  thumps,  Tom."  And  he  told  about  his  meet 
ing  with  the  five  members  of  the  entertainment  com 
mittee. 


NEW  COURAGE  AND  PLANS     163 

"  I  expected  'em  before  the  election.  Well,  I'll  be 
ready  for  'em,"  Tom  said  grimly. 

A  light  had  begun  to  glow  in  Petersen's  heavy  eyes 
as  Pete  talked.  He  now  spoke  for  the  first  time  since 
Pete  had  come  in.  "  Vot  day  do?  "  he  asked. 

Pete  explained  in  pantomine,  thrusting  rapid  fists 
close  to  various  parts  of  Petersen's  face.  "  About 
five  men  on  you  at  once." 

Petersen  grunted. 

When  Pete  left,  the  Swede  remained  in  his  chair 
with  anxiety  showing  through  his  natural  stolidity. 
Tom  gave  a  helpless  glance  at  him,  and  followed 
Pete  out  into  the  hall. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Pete,  help  me  out!  "  Tom  said 
in  a  whisper.  u  He's  the  fellow  I  helped  get  into  the 
union.  I  told  you  about  him,  you  know.  He  came 
around  to-night  to  tell  me  he's  got  a  job.  When  I 
came  in  at  half  past  ten  he'd  been  here  half  an  hour 
already.  It's  eleven-thirty  now.  And  he  ain't  said 
ten  words.  I  want  to  go  to  bed,  but  confound  him, 
he  don't  know  how  to  leave!  " 

Pete  opened  the  door.  "  Say,  Petersen,  ain't  you 
goin'  my  way?  Come  on,  we'll  go  together." 

Petersen  rose  with  obvious  relief.  He  shook  hands 
with  Tom  in  awkward  silence,  and  together  he  and 
Pete  went  down  the  stairs. 

Monday  morning  Tom  bought  the  first  revolver 
he  had  ever  possessed.  If  he  had  had  any  doubt  as 
to  the  correctness  of  Pete's  news,  that  doubt  would 
not  have  been  long  with  him.  During  the  morning, 
as  he  went  about  looking  for  a  job,  he  twice  caught 
a  glimpse  of  three  members  of  the  entertainment 


i64THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

committee  watching  him  from  the  distance;  and  he 
knew  they  were  waiting  a  safe  chance  to  close  in  upon 
him.  The  revolver  in  his  inner  vest  pocket  pressed 
a  welcome  assurance  against  his  ribs. 

That  night  when  he  came  down  from  dinner  to 
carry  his  new  plan  from  ear  to  ear,  he  found  Peter- 
sen,  hands  in  his  overcoat  pockets,  standing  patiently 
without  the  doorway  of  the  tenement. 

"  Hello,  Petersen,"  he  said  in  surprise. 

"  Hello,"  said  Petersen. 

Tom  wanted  no  repetition  of  his  experience  of 
Saturday  night.  "  Got  a  lot  of  work  to  do  to-night," 
he  said  hurriedly.  "  So-long." 

He  started  away.  The  Swede,  with  no  further 
words,  fell  into  step  beside  him.  For  several  blocks 
they  walked  in  silence,  then  Tom  came  to  a  pause  be 
fore  a  tenement  in  which  lived  a  member  of  the 
union. 

"  Good-by,  Petersen,"  he  said. 

"  Goo'-by,"  said  Petersen. 

They  shook  hands. 

When  Tom  came  into  the  street  ten  minutes  later 
there  was  Petersen  standing  just  where  he  had  left 
him.  Again  the  Swede  fell  into  step.  Tom,  though 
embarrassed  and  irritated  by  the  man's  silent,  per 
sistent  company,  held  back  his  words. 

At  the  second  stop  Tom  said  shortly:  "I'll  be 
here  a  long  while.  You  needn't  wait." 

But  when  he  came  down  from  the  call,  which  he 
had  purposely  extended,  Petersen  was  waiting  beside 
the  steps.  This  was  too  much  for  Tom.  u  Where 
are  you  going?  "  he  demanded. 


NEW   COURAGE   AND   PLANS     165 

"  'Long  you,"  the  Swede  answered   slowly. 

"  I  don't  know's  I  need  you,"  Tom  returned 
shortly,  and  started  away. 

For  half  a  dozen  paces  there  was  no  sound  but  his 
own  heel-clicks.  Then  he  heard  the  heel-clicks  of  the 
Swede.  He  turned  about  in  exasperation.  "  See 
here!  What's  your  idea  in  following  me  around 
like  this?" 

Petersen  shifted  his  feet  uncomfortably.  ;'  De 

man,  last  night,  he  say "  He  finished  by  placing 

his  bony  fists  successively  on  either  side  of  his  jaw. 
"  I  tank  maybe  I  be  'long,  I  be  some  good." 

A  light  broke  in  on  Tom.  And  he  thought  of  the 
photograph  on  Petersen's  leprous  wall.  He  shoved 
out  his  hand.  "  Put  it  there,  Petersen!  "  he  said. 

And  all  that  evening  Tom's  silent  companion 
marched  through  the  streets  beside  him. 


Chapter   XV 
MR.   BAXTER  HAS  A  FEW  CONFERENCES 

CAPTAINS  of  war  have  it  as  a  common 
practice   to   secure   information,   in   such 
secret   ways    as    they    can,    about    their 
opponents'  plans  and  movements,  and  to 
develop  their  own  plans  to  match  these;  and  this 
practice  has  come  into  usage  among  captains  of  in 
dustry.    The  same  afternoon  that  Jake  brought  news 
of  Tom's  scheme  to  Foley,  a  man  of  furtive  glance 
whom  a  member  of  the  union  would  have  recognized 
as  Johnson   requested  the  youth  in  the  outer  office  of 
Baxter  &  Co.  to  carry  his  name  to  the  head  of  the 
firm. 

;<  Wha'  d'youse  want  to  see  him  'bout?  "  demanded 
the  uniform. 
"  A  job." 
"  No  good.     He  don't  hire  nobody  but  the  fore 


men." 


"  It's  a  foreman's  job  I'm  after,"  returned  John 
son,  glancing  about. 

The  debate  continued,  but  in  the  end  Johnson's 
name  went  in  to  Mr.  Baxter,  and  Johnson  himself 
soon  followed  it.  When  he  came  out  Mr.  Baxter's 
information  was  as  complete  as  Buck  Foley's. 

That  evening  Johnson's  news  came  into  the  conver 
sation  of  Mr.  Baxter  and  his  wife.  After  dinner 
she  drew  him  into  the  library — a  real  library,  booked 

166 


A   FEW  CONFERENCES        167 

to  the  ceiling  on  three  sides,  an  open  wood  fire  on  the 
other — to  tell  him  of  a  talk  she  had  had  that  day 
with  chance-met  Ruth.  With  an  aunt's  privilege  she 
hud  asked  about  the  state  of  affairs  between  her  and 
Mr.  Herman. 

"  There's  no  telling  what  she's  going  to  do,"  Mrs. 
Baxter  went  on,  with  a  gentle  sigh.  "  I  do  hope  she'll 
marry  him!  People  are  still  talking  about  her  strange 
behavior  in  leaving  us  to  go  to  work.  How  I  did 
try  to  persuade  her  not  to  do  it!  I  knew  it  would 
involve  us  in  a  scandal.  And  the  idea  of  her  offering 
to  go  to  work  in  your  office !  " 

Mr.  Baxter  continued  to  look  abstractedly  into  the 
grate,  as  he  had  looked  ever  since  she  had  begun  her 
hull -reminiscent  strain.  Now  that  she  was  ended, 
she  could  but  note  that  his  mind  was  elsewhere. 

"  James!" 

"  Yes."     He  turned  to  her  with  a  start. 

'  Why,  you  have  not  spoken  a  word  to  me.  Is 
there  something  on  your  mind?  " 

He  studied  the  flames  for  a  moment.  "  I  learned 
this  afternoon  that  the  Iron  Workers'  Union  will 
probably  demand  a  ten  per  cent,  increase  in  wages." 

"  What!    And  that  means  a  strike?  " 

"  It  doubtless  does,  unless  we  grant  their  de 
mand." 

"  But  can  you  afford  to?  " 

"  We  could  without  actually  running  at  a  loss." 

Mrs.  Baxter  was  on  the  board  of  patronesses  of 
one  or  two  workingwomen's  clubs  and  was  a  con 
tributor  to  several  fashionable  charities,  so  considered 
herself  genuinely  thoughtful  of  the  interests  of  wage- 


I68THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

earners.  "  If  you  won't  lose  anything,  I  suppose 
you  might  as  well  increase  their  salaries.  Most  of 
them  can  use  a  little  more  money.  They're  respecta 
ble  people  who  appreciate  everything  we  do  for  them. 
And  you  can  make  it  up  by  charging  higher  prices." 

Mr.  Baxter  sat  silent  for  a  space  looking  at  his 
wife,  quizzically,  admiringly.  He  was  inclined  to 
scoff  in  his  heart  at  his  wife's  philanthropic  hobbies, 
but  he  indulged  her  in  them  as  he  did  in  all  her  efforts 
to  attain  fashionable  standing.  He  had  said,  lover 
fashion,  in  their  courtship  days,  that  she  should  never 
have  an  ungratified  wish,  and  after  a  score  of  years 
he  still  held  warmly  to  this  promise.  He  still  ad 
mired  her;  and  little  wonder,  for  sitting  with  her 
feet  stretched  toward  the  open  fire,  her  blonde  head 
gracefully  in  one  hand,  her  brown  e^yes  fixed  waitingly 
on  him,  looking  at  least  eight  less  than  her  forty- 
three  years,  she  was  absolutely  beautiful. 

"  Elizabeth,"  he  said  at  length,  "  do  you  know 
how  much  we  spent  last  year?  " 

"  No." 

"  About  ninety-three  thousand  dollars." 

"  So  much  as  that?  But  really,  it  isn't  such  a  big 
sum.  A  mere  nothing  to  what  some  of  our  friends 
spend." 

"  This  year,  with  our  Newport  house,  it  '11  be  a 
good  thirty  thousand  more ;  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  thousand,  anyway.  Now  I  can't  make  the  owners 
pay  the  raise,  as  you  seem  to  think."  He  smiled 
slightly  at  her  business  naivete.  "  The  estimates  on 
the  work  I'll  do  this  year  were  all  made  on  the 
present  scale,  and  I  can't  raise  the  estimates.  If  the 


A   FEW  CONFERENCES        169 

ten  per  cent,  increase  is  granted,  it  '11  have  to  come  out 
of  our  income.  Our  income  will  be  cut  down  for  this 
year  to  at  least  seventy-five  thousand.  If  things  go 
bad,  to  fifty  thousand." 

Mrs.  Baxter  rose  excitedly  to  her  feet.  "  Why, 
that's  absurd!  " 

"  We'd  have  to  give  up  the  Newport  house,"  he 
went  on,  "  put  the  yacht  out  of  commission  and  lessen 
expenses  here." 

She  looked  at  her  husband  in  consternation.  After 
several  years  of  effort  Mrs.  Baxter  was  just  getting 
into  the  outer  edge  of  the  upper  crust  of  New  York 
society.  At  her  husband's  words  she  saw  all  that  she 
had  striven  for,  and  which  of  late  had  seemed  near 
of  attainment,  withdraw  into  the  shadowy  recesses 
of  an  uncertain  future. 

"  But  we  can't  cut  down !  "  she  cried  desperately. 
"We  simply  can't!  We  couldn't  entertain  here  in 
the  manner  we  have  planned.  And  we'd  have  to  go 
to  Atlantic  City  this  summer,  or  some  other  such 
place! — and  who  goes  to  Atlantic  City?  Why,  we'd 
lose  everything  we've  gained!  We  can  never  give 
the  raise,  James.  It's  simply  out  of  the  question !  " 

"  And  we  won't,"  said  Mr.  Baxter,  gently  tapping 
a  forefinger  upon  the  beautifully  carved  arm  of  his 
chair. 

"  Anyhow,  suppose  we  do  spend  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  thousand,  why  the  working  people  get 
everything  back  in  wages,"  she  added  ingeniously. 

Mr.  Baxter  realized  the  economic  fallacy  of  this 
last  statement;  but  he  refrained  from  exposing  her 
sophistry  since  her  conscience  found  satisfaction  in  it. 


lyoTHE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

Monday  morning,  in  discharge  of  his  duty  as 
president  of  the  Iron  Employers'  Association,  Mr. 
Baxter  got  Murphy,  Bobbs,  Isaacs,  and  Driscoll, 
the  other  four  members  of  the  Executive  Committee, 
on  the  telephone.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  five  men 
were  sitting  around  Mr.  Baxter's  cherry  table. 
Bobbs,  Murphy,  and  Isaacs  already  had  knowledge 
of  Tom's  plans;  Mr.  Baxter  was  not  the  only  one 
having  unionists  on  his  payroll  who  performed  ser 
vices  other  than  handling  beams  and  hammering 
rivets.  Mr.  Driscoll  alone  was  surprised  when  Mr. 
Baxter  stated  the  object  of  calling  the  committee 
thus  hastily  together. 

'  Why,  I  thought  we'd  been  assured  the  old  sched 
ule  would  be  continued  I  "  he  said. 

"  So  Mr.  Foley  gave  us  to  understand,"  answered 
Mr.  Baxter.  u  But  it's  another  man,  a  man  named 
Keating,  that's  stirring  this  up." 

"Keating!"  Mr.  Driscoll's  lips  pouted  hugely, 
and  his  round  eyes  snapped.  For  a  man  to  whom  he 
had  taken  a  genuine  liking  to  be  stirring  up  a  fight 
against  his  interest  was  in  the  nature  of  a  personal 
affront  to  him. 

"  I  think  I  know  him,"  said  Mr.  Murphy.  "  He 
ain't  such  a  much !  " 

4  That  shows  you  don't  know  him  I  "  said  Mr. 
Driscoll  sharply.  "  Well,  if  there  is  a  strike,  we'll 
at  least  have  the  satisfaction  of  fighting  with  an 
honest  man." 

"  That  satisfaction,  of  course,"  admitted  Mr. 
Baxter,  in  his  soft,  rounded  voice.  "  But  what  shall 
be  our  plan?  It  is  certainly  the  part  of  wisdom  for 


A   FEW  CONFERENCES        171 

us  to  decide  upon  our  attitude,  and  our  course,  in 
advance." 

"  Fight  'em!  "  said  Mr.  Driscoll. 

"  What  is  the  opinion  of  you  other  gentlemen?  " 

"  They  don't  deserve  an  increase,  so  I'm  against 
it,"  said  Mr.  Bobbs.  Had  he  spoken  his  thought 
his  answer  would  have  been:  "  It  '11  half  ruin  me  if 
we  give  the  increase.  Fact  is,  I've  gone  in  pretty 
heavy  in  some  real  estate  lately.  If  my  profits  are 
cut  down,  I  can't  meet  my  payments." 

"  Same  as  Driscoll,"  said  Mr.  Murphy,  a  blowzed, 
hairy  man,  a  Tammany  member  of  the  Board  of 
Aldermen.  He  swore  at  the  union.  "  Why,  they're 
already  gettin'  twice  what  they're  worth!  " 

Mr.  Baxter  raised  his  eyebrows  the  least  trifle  at 
Mr.  Murphy's  profanity.  "  Mr.  Isaacs." 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  can  pay  more.  And  yet  if 
we're  tied  up  by  a  strike  for  two  or  three  months 
we'll  lose  more  than  the  increase  of  wages  would 
come  to." 

Mr.  Baxter  answered  the  doubtful  Mr.  Isaacs  in 
his  smooth,  even  tones.  "  You  seem  to  forget,  Mr. 
Isaacs,  that  if  we  grant  this  without  a  fight,  there'll 
be  another  demand  next  spring,  and  another  the  year 
after.  We're  compelled  to  make  a  stand  now  if  we 
would  keep  wages  within  reasonable  bounds." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  agreed  Mr.  Isaacs. 

"  Besides,  if  there  is  a  strike  it  is  not  at  all  likely 
that  it  will  last  any  time,"  Mr.  Baxter  continued. 
"  We  should  break  the  strike  easily,  with  a  division 
in  the  union,  as  of  course  you  see  there  is, — this  Mr. 
Keating  on  one  side,  Mr.  Foley  on  the  other.  I've 


172    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

met  Mr.  Keating.  I  dare  say  he's  honest  enough, 
as  Mr.  Driscoll  says.  But  he  is  inexperienced,  and  I 
am  sure  we  can  easily  outgeneral  him." 

"  Beat  'em  easy,  an'  needn't  spit  on  our  hands  to 
do  it  neither,"  said  Mr.  Murphy.  He  started  to 
swing  one  foot  upon  the  cherry  table,  but  catching 
Mr.  Baxter's  eye  he  checked  the  leg  in  mid-career. 

Straightway  the  five  plunged  into  an  excited  dis 
cussion  of  the  chance  of  beating  the  strike,  of  plans 
for  fighting  it,  and  of  preparation  that  should  be 
made  in  anticipation  of  it. 

When  they  had  gone  Mr.  Baxter  sat  down  to  his 
desk  and  began  writing  a  note.  He  had  listened  to 
the  talk  of  the  four,  to  him  mere  chatter,  with  out 
ward  courtesy  and  inward  chafing,  not  caring  to  men 
tion  to  them  the  plan  upon  which  he  had  already 
decided.  His  first  impulse  had  been  to  fight  the 
union,  and  fight  it  hard.  He  hated  trade  unionism 
for  its  arrogation  of  powers  that  he  regarded  as  the 
natural  right  of  the  employer;  it  was  his  right,  as  the 
owner  of  a  great  business,  and  as  the  possessor  of  a 
superior  intelligence,  to  run  his  affairs  as  he  saw 
fit — to  employ  men  on  his  own  terms,  work  them 
such  hours  and  under  such  conditions  as  he  should 
decide — terms,  hours,  and  conditions,  of  course,  to 
be  as  good  as  he  could  afford.  But  his  business  train 
ing,  his  wholly  natural  instinct  for  gain,  and  later 
his  large  family  expenses,  had  fixed  upon  him  the 
profitable  habit  of  seeking  the  line  of  least  resistance. 
And  so,  succeeding  this  first  hot  impulse,  was  a 
desire  that  the  strike  be  avoided — if  that  were 
possible. 


A   FEW  CONFERENCES        173 

His  first  thought  had  been  of  Foley.  But  the 
fewer  his  meetings  with  the  walking  delegate  of  the 
iron  workers,  the  more  pleased  was  he.  Then  came 
the  second  thought  that  it  was  better  to  deal  directly 
with  the  threatening  cause — and  so  the  letter  he  now 
wrote  was  to  Tom  Keating. 

The  letter  was  delivered  Tuesday  morning  before 
Tom  left  home.  He  read  it  in  wonderment,  for  to 
him  any  letter  was  an  event : 

"  Will  you  please  call  at  my  office  as  soon  as  you  can  find  it 
convenient.  I  have  something  to  say  that  I  think  will  interest 
you." 

Guessing  wildly  as  to  what  this  something  might 
be,  Tom  presented  himself  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  outer 
office  of  Baxter  &  Co.  The  uniform  respectfully 
told  him  that  Mr.  Baxter  would  not  be  in  before 
twelve.  At  twelve  Tom  was  back.  Yes,  Mr.  Baxter 
was  in,  said  the  uniform,  and  hurried  away  with 
Tom's  name.  Again  there  was  a  wait  before  the  boy 
came  back,  and  again  a  wait  in  a  sheeny  chair  before 
Mr.  Baxter  looked  up. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Keating,"  he  said.  "  I  see  you  got  my 
letter." 

"  Yes.    This  morning." 

Mr.  Baxter  did  not  lose  a  second.  "  What  I 
wanted  to  see  you  about  is  this :  I  understand  that 
some  time  ago  you  were  inquiring  here  for  a  position. 
It  happens  that  I  have  a  place  just  now  that  I'm 
desirous  of  filling  with  an  absolutely  trustworthy 
man.  Mr.  Driscoll  spoke  very  highly  to  me  of  you, 
so  I've  sent  for  you." 


*74    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

This  offer  came  to  Tom  as  a  surprise.  His  upper 
most  guess  as  to  the  reason  for  his  being  summoned 
had  been  that  Mr.  Baxter,  repenting  of  his  late  non- 
participation,  now  wished  to  join  in  the  fight  against 
Foley.  Under  other  circumstances  Tom  would  have 
accepted  the  position,  said  nothing,  and  held  the 
job  as  long  as  he  could.  But  the  fact  that  the  offer 
was  corning  to  him  freely  and  in  good  faith  prompted 
him  to  say:  "You  must  know,  Mr.  Baxter,  that 
if  you  give  me  a  job  Foley  '11  make  trouble  for 
you." 

"  I  have  no  fear  of  Mr.  Foley's  interference," 
Mr.  Baxter  answered  him  quietly. 

"  You  haven't!  "  Tom  leaned  forward  in  sudden 
admiration.  "  You're  the  first  boss  I've  struck  yet 
that's  not  afraid  of  Foley!  He's  got  'em  all  scared 
stiff.  If  you'd  come  out  against  him " 

Tom  would  have  said  more  but  Mr.  Baxter's  cold 
reserve,  not  a  change  of  feature,  chilled  his  enthu 
siasm.  He  drew  up  in  his  chair.  "  What's  the 
job?" 

"  Foreman.    The  salary  is  forty  a  week." 

Tom's  heart  beat  exultantly — and  he  had  a  mo 
mentary  triumph  over  Maggie.  "  I'll  take  it,"  he 
said. 

"Can  you  begin  at  once?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  well.  Then  I'll  want  you  to  leave  to-mor- 
row." 

Tom  started.    "Leave?" 

"  Yes.  Didn't  I  mention  that  the  job  is  in 
Chicago?" 


A   FEW   CONFERENCES         175 

Mr.  Baxter  watched  Tom  closely  out  of  his  steely 
gray  eyes.  He  saw  the  flush  die  out  of  Tom's  face, 
saw  Tom's  clasped  hands  suddenly  tighten — and 
knew  his  answer  before  he  spoke. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  he  said  with  an  effort.  "  I  can't 
leave  New  York." 

Mr.  Baxter  studied  Tom's  face  an  instant  longer 
.  .  .  But  it  was  too  honest. 

He  turned  toward  his  desk  with  a  gentle  abrupt 
ness.  "  I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Keating.  Good-day." 

With  Mr.  Baxter  there  was  small  space  between 
actions.  He  had  already  decided  upon  his  course  in 
case  this  plan  should  fail.  Tom  was  scarcely  out  of 
his  office  before  he  was  writing  a  note  to  Buck  Foley. 

Foley  sauntered  in  the  next  morning,  hands  in 
overcoat  pockets,  a  cigar  in  one  corner  of  his  mouth. 
"What's  this  I  hear  about  a  strike?"  Mr.  Baxter 
asked,  as  soon  as  the  walking  delegate  was  seated. 

"  Don't  youse  waste  none  o'  the  thinks  in  your 
brain-box  on  no  strike,"  returned  Foley.  He  had 
early  discovered  Mr.  Baxter's  dislike  of  uncouth 
expressions. 

"  But  there's  a  great  deal  of  serious  talk." 

*  There's  always  wind  comin'  out  o'  men's 
mouths." 

Mr.  Baxter  showed  not  a  trace  of  the  irritation  he 
felt. 

u  Is  there  going  to  be  a  strike?  " 

"  Not  if  I  know  myself.  And  I  think  I  do."  He 
blew  out  a  great  cloud  of  smoke. 

"  But  one  of  your  men — a  Mr.  Keating — is  stir 
ring  one  up." 


176    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  He  thinks  he  is,"  Foley  corrected.  "  But  he's 
got  another  think  comin'.  He's  a  fellow  youse  ought 
to  know,  Baxter.  Nice  an'  cultivated;  God-fearinJ 
an'  otherwise  harmless." 

Mr.  Baxter's  face  tightened.  "  I  know,  Mr. 
Foley,  that  this  situation  is  much  more  serious  than 
you  pretend,"  he  said  sharply. 

Foley  tilted  back  in  his  chair.  "  If  youse  seen  a 
lion  comin'  at  youse  with  a  yard  or  so  of  open  mouth 
youse'd  think  things  was  gettin'  a  little  serious.  But 
if  youse  knew  the  lion  'd  never  make  its  last  jump, 
youse  wouldn't  go  into  the  occupation  o'  throwin' 
fits,  now  would  youse?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Nothin'.  Only  there'll  be  no  last  jump  for  Keat- 
ing." 

"  How's  that?  " 

"  How?  That's  my  business."  He  stood  up,  relit 
his  cigar,  striking  the  match  on  the  sole  of  his  shoe. 
"  Results  is  what  youse's  after.  The  how  belongs  to 


me." 


At  the  door  he  paused,  half  closed  one  eye,  and 
slowly  blew  forth  the  smoke  of  his  cigar.  "  Now 
don't  get  brain-fag,"  he  said. 


Chapter  XVI 
BLOWS 

XT  was  about  half  past  twelve  when  Tom 
left  Mr.  Baxter's  office.  As  he  came  pur 
poseless  into  the  street  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  was  but  a  few  blocks  from  the 
office  of  Mr.  Driscoll,  and  in  the  same  instant  his 
chance  meeting  with  Ruth  three  weeks  before  as  she 
came  out  to  lunch  flashed  across  his  memory.  He 
turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Driscoll's 
office,  and  on  gaining  the  block  it  was  in  walked 
slowly  back  and  forth  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  eagerly  watching  the  revolving  door  of  the 
great  building.  At  length  she  appeared.  Tom 
started  quickly  toward  her.  Another  quarter  revolu 
tion  of  the  door  and  a  man  was  discharged  at  her 
side.  The  man  was  Mr.  Berman;  and  they  walked 
off  together,  he  turning  upon  her  glances  whose 
meaning  Tom's  quickened  instinct  divined  at  once. 

The  sight  of  these  two  together,  Mr.  Berman's 
eyes  upon  her  with  an  unmistakable  look,  struck 
him  through  with  jagged  pain.  He  was  as  a  man 
whose  sealed  vision  an  oculist's  knife  has  just  re 
leased.  Amid  startled  anguish  his  eyes  suddenly 
opened  to  things  he,  in  his  blindness,  had  never 
guessed.  He  saw  what  she  had  come  to  mean  to 
him.  This  was  so  great  that,  at  first,  it  well-nigh 
obscured  all  else.  She  filled  him, — her  sympathy, 

177 


178    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

her  intelligence,  her  high  womanliness.  And  she, 
she  that  filled  him,  was  .  .  .  only  a  great  pain. 

And  then  (he  had  mechanically  followed  them, 
and  now  stood  watching  the  door  within  which  they 
had  disppeared — the  door  through  which  he  had 
gone  with  her  three  weeks  before)  he  saw,  his  pain 
writhing  within  him  the  while,  the  double  hopeless 
ness  of  his  love:  she  was  educated,  cultured — she 
could  care  nothing  for  a  mere  workman ;  and  even  if 
she  could  care,  he  was  bound. 

And  then  (he  was  now  moving  slowly  through  the 
Broadway  crowd,  scarcely  conscious  of  it)  he  saw 
how  poor  he  was  in  his  loveless  married  life.  Since 
his  first  liking  for  Maggie  had  run  its  so  brief  course, 
he  had  lapsed  by  such  slow  degrees  to  his  present 
relations  with  her  that  he  had  been  hardly  more 
conscious  of  his  life's  lacking  than  if  he  had  been 
living  with  an  unsympathetic  sister.  But  now  that  a 
real  love  had  discovered  itself  to  him,  with  the  sud 
denness  of  lightning  that  rips  open  the  night,  he  saw, 
almost  gaspingly,  how  glorious  life  with  love  could 
be ;  and,  by  contrast,  he  saw  how  sordid  and  common 
place  his  own  life  was;  and  he  saw  this  life  without 
love  stretching  away  its  flat  monotony,  year  after 
year. 

And  there  were  things  he  did  not  see,  for  he  had 
not  been  made  aware  by  the  unwritten  laws  prevail 
ing  in  a  more  self-conscious  social  stratum.  And 
one  of  these  things  was,  he  did  not  see  that  perhaps 
in  his  social  ignorance  he  had  done  Ruth  some  great 
injury. 

That  night  Maggie  kept  his  dinner  warm  on  the 


BLOWS  179 

back  of  the  kitchen  range,  to  no  purpose;  and  that 
night  Petersen  waited  vainly  on  the  tenement  steps. 
It  was  after  twelve  when  Tom  came  into  the  flat, 
his  face  drawn,  his  heart  chilled.  He  had  seen  his 
course  vaguely  almost  from  the  first  moment  of  his 
vision's  release;  he  had  seen  it  clearer  and  more 
clear  as  hour  after  hour  of  walking  had  passed;  and 
he  felt  himself  strong  enough  to  hold  to  that  course. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  he  was  gentler 
with  Maggie  than  he  had  been  in  many  a  day;  so  that 
once,  when  she  had  gone  into  the  kitchen  to  refill  her 
coffee  cup,  she  looked  in  at  him  for  a  moment  in  a 
kind  of  resentful  surprise.  Not  being  accustomed  to 
peering  inward  upon  the  workings  of  his  soul,  Tom 
himself  understood  this  slight  change  in  his  attitude 
no  better  than  did  his  wife.  He  did  not  realize  that 
the  coming  of  the  knowledge  of  love,  and  the  coming 
of  sorrow,  were  together  beginning  to  soften  and 
refine  his  nature. 

The  work  Tom  had  marked  out  for  himself  per 
mitted  him  little  time  to  brood  over  his  new  unhap- 
piness.  After  breakfast  he  set  out  once  more  upon 
his  twofold  purpose:  to  find  a  job,  if  one  could  be 
found;  to  talk  strike  to  as  many  members  of  the 
union  as  he  could  see.  In  seeking  work  he  was 
limited  to  such  occupations  as  had  not  yet  been  union 
ized.  He  walked  along  the  docks,  thinking  to  find 
something  to  do  as  a  longshoreman,  but  the  work 
was  heavy  and  irregular,  the  hours  long,  the  pay 
small;  and  he  left  the  river  front  without  asking  for 
employment.  He  looked  at  the  men  in  the  tunnel  of 
the  underground  railway;  but  he  could  not  bring  him- 


i8o    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

self  to  ask  employment  among  the  low-waged  Ital 
ians  he  saw  there.  He  did  go  into  three  big  stores 
and  make  blind  requests  for  anything,  but  at  none 
was  there  work  for  him. 

As  he  went  about  Tom  visited  the  jobs  near  which 
he  passed,  on  which  members  of  his  union  were  at 
work.  One  of  these  was  a  small  residence  hotel 
just  west  of  Fifth  Avenue,  whose  walls  were  up,  but 
which  was  as  yet  unfinished  on  the  inside.  He 
climbed  to  the  top  in  search  of  members  employed  on 
the  iron  stairways  and  the  elevator  shafts,  but  did 
not  find  a  man.  He  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stair 
way  just  in  time  to  see  three  men  enter  the  doorway. 
One  of  the  three  he  recognized  as  Jake  Henderson, 
and  he  knew  the  entertainment  committee  had  him 
cornered.  He  grimly  changed  his  revolver  from  his 
vest  pocket  to  his  left  coat  pocket,  and  filling  his 
right  coat  pocket  from  a  heap  of  sand  beside  him, 
quietly  awaited  their  coming. 

The  three  paused  a  moment  inside  the  door,  evi 
dently  to  accustom  their  eyes  to  the  half  darkness, 
for  all  the  windows  were  boarded  up.  At  length 
they  sighted  him,  standing  before  the  servants'  stair 
case  in  the  further  corner.  They  came  cautiously 
across  the  great  room,  as  yet  unpartitioned,  Jake 
slightly  in  the  lead.  At  ten  paces  away  they  came  to 
a  halt. 

"  I  guess  we  got  youse  good  an'  proper  at  last," 
said  Jake  gloatingly.  "  It  won't  do  youse  no  good 
to  yell.  We'll  give  youse  all  the  more  if  youse  do. 
An'  we  can  give  it  to  youse,  anyhow,  before  the  men 
can  get  down." 


BLOWS  181 

Tom  did  not  answrer.  He  had  no  mind  to  cry 
for  help.  He  stood  alertly  watching  them,  his  hands 
in  his  coat  pockets. 

Jake  laid  off  his  hat  and  coat — there  was  leisure, 
and  it  enlarged  his  pleasure  to  take  his  time — and 
moved  forward  in  advance  of  his  two  companions. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said  leering.  He  was  on  the  point 
of  lunging  at  his  victim,  when  Tom's  right  hand 
came  out  and  a  fistful  of  sand  went  stinging  full  into 
his  face.  He  gave  a  cry,  but  before  he  could  so 
much  as  make  a  move  to  brush  away  the  sand  Tom's 
fist  caught  him  on  the  ear.  He  dropped  limply. 

The  two  men  sprang  forward,  to  be  met  in  the 
face  by  Tom's  revolver. 

"  If  you  fellows  want  button-holes  put  into  you, 
just  move  another  step !  "  he  said. 

They  took  another  step,  several  of  them — but 
backward  steps.  Tom  kept  them  covered  for  a 
minute,  then  moved  toward  the  light,  walking  back 
ward,  his  eyes  never  leaving  them.  On  gaining  the 
door  he  slipped  the  revolver  into  his  vest  pocket  and 
stepped  quickly  into  the  blinding  street. 

When  Tom,  entering  the  union  hall  that  evening, 
passed  Jake  at  his  place  at  the  door,  the  latter  scowled 
fiercely,  but  the  presence  of  several  of  Tom's  friends, 
who  had  been  acquainted  with  the  afternoon's  en 
counter,  pacified  his  fists. 

'  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  your  eyes,  Jake?  " 
asked  Pig  Iron  Pete  sympathetically. 

Jake  consigned  Pete  to  the  usual  place,  and  whis 
pered  in  Tom's  ear:  "  Youse  just  wait!  I'll  git  youse 
yet!" 


182    THE  WALKING  DELEGATE 

That  night  Tom  sat  his  first  time  in  the  president's 
chair.  His  situation  was  painfully  grotesque, — in 
stead  of  being  the  result  of  the  chances  of  election, 
it  might  well  have  been  an  ironic  jest  of  Foley:  there 
was  Connelly,  two  tables  away,  at  his  right;  Brown, 
the  vice-president,  at  the  table  next  him;  Snyder,  the 
corresponding  secretary,  at  his  left;  Jake  Hender 
son,  sergeant-at-arms,  at  the  door; — every  man  of 
them  an  intimate  friend  of  Foley.  And  it  was 
not  long  before  Tom  felt  the  farce-tragedy  of  his 
position.  Shortly  after  he  rapped  the  meeting  to 
order  a  man  in  the  rear  of  the  hall  became  persis 
tently  obstreperous.  After  two  censured  outbreaks 
he  rose  unsteadily  amid  the  discussion  upon  a  motion. 
"  I  objec',"  he  said. 

"  What's  your  objection?  "  Tom  asked,  repressing 
his  wrath. 

The  man  swore.    "  Ain't  it  'nough  I  objec' !  " 

"  If  the  member  is  out  of  order  again  he'll  have 
to  leave  the  hall."  Tom  guessed  this  to  be  a  scheme 
of  Foley  to  annoy  him. 

"  Put  me  out,  you "  And  the  man  offered 

some  remarks  upon  Tom's  character. 

Tom  pounded  the  table  with  his  gavel.  "  Ser 
geant-at-arms,  put  that  man  out!  " 

Jake,  who  stood  at  the  door  whispering  to  a  man, 
did  not  even  turn  about. 

"  Sergeant-at-arms!  " 

Jake  went  on  with  his  conversation. 

"Sergeant-at-arms!"  thundered  Tom,  springing 
to  his  feet. 

Jake  looked  slowly  around. 


BLOWS  183 

"  Put  that  man  out !  "  Tom  ordered. 

"Can't  youse  see  I'm  busy?"  said  Jake;  and 
turned  his  broad  back. 

Several  of  Tom's  friends  sprang  up,  but  all  in 
the  room  waited  to  see  what  he  would  do.  For  a 
moment  he  stood  motionless,  a  statue  of  controlled 
fury,  and  for  that  moment  there  was  stillness  in  the 
hall.  Then  he  tossed  the  gavel  upon  the  table  and 
strode  down  the  center  aisle.  He  seized  the  offend 
ing  member,  who  was  in  an  end  seat,  one  hand  on  his 
collar  and  one  on  his  wrist.  The  man  struck  out, 
but  a  fierce  turn  of  his  wrist  brought  from  him  a  sub 
missive  cry  of  pain.  Tom  pushed  him,  swearing, 
toward  the  door.  No  one  offered  interference,  and 
his  ejection  was  easy,  for  he  was  small  and  half 
drunken. 

Tom  strode  back  to  his  table,  brought  the  gavel 
down  with  a  blow  that  broke  its  handle  and  looked 
about  writh  blazing  eyes.  Again  the  union  waited 
his  action  in  suspense.  His  chest  heaved;  he  swal 
lowed  mightily.  Then  he  asked  steadily :  "  Are 
you  ready  for  the  question  ?  " 

This  is  but  one  sample  of  the  many  annoyances 
Tom  suffered  during  the  meeting,  and  of  the  annoy 
ances  he  was  to  suffer  for  many  meetings  to  come. 
A  man  less  obstinately  strong  would  have  yielded  his 
resignation  within  an  hour — to  force  which  was  half 
the  purpose  of  the  harassment;  and  a  man  more 
violent  would  have  broken  into  a  fury  of  words, 
which,  answering  the  other  half  of  the  purpose, 
would  have  been  to  Foley's  crew  what  the  tirade  of  a 
beggar  is  to  teasing  schoolboys. 


184    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

When  "  new  business  "  was  reached  Tom  yielded 
the  chair  to  Brown,  the  vice-president,  and  rose  to 
make  the  protest  on  which  he  had  determined.  He 
had  no  great  hope  of  winning  the  union  to  the  action 
he  desired;  but  it  had  become  a  part  of  his  nature 
never  to  give  up  and  to  try  every  chance. 

The  union  knew  what  was  coming.  There  were 
cheers  and  hisses,  but  Tom  stood  waiting  minute 
after  minute  till  both  had  died  away.  "  Mr.  Chair 
man,  I  move  we  set  aside  last  week's  election  of  walk 
ing  delegate,"  he  began,  and  went  on  to  make  his 
charges  against  Foley.  Cries  of  "  Good  boy,  Tom !  " 
"  Right  there!  "  came  from  his  friends,  and  various 
and  variously  decorated  synonyms  for  liar  came  from 
Foley's  crowd;  but  Tom,  raising  his  voice  to  a  shout, 
spoke  without  pause  through  the  cries  of  friends  and 
foes. 

When  he  ended  half  the  crowd  was  on  foot  de 
manding  the  right  to  the  floor.  Brown  dutifully 
recognized  Foley. 

Foley  did  not  speak  from  where  he  stood  in  the 
front  row,  but  sauntered  angularly,  hands  in  trou 
sers  pockets,  to  the  platform  and  mounted  it.  With 
a  couple  of  kicks  he  sent  a  chair  from  its  place  against 
the  wall  to  the  platform's  edge,  leisurely  swung  his 
right  foot  upon  the  chair's  seat,  rested  his  right 
elbow  upon  his  knee,  and  with  cigar  in  the  left  corner 
of  his  mouth,  and  his  side  to  his  audience,  he  began  to 
speak. 

"  When  I  was  a  kid  about  as  big  as  a  rivet  I  used 
to  play  marbles  for  keeps,"  he  drawled,  looking  at 
the  side  wall.  "  When  I  won,  I  didn't  make  no  kick. 


BLOWS  185 

When  I  lost,  a  deaf  man  could  'a'  heard  me  a  mile. 
I  said  the  other  kid  didn't  play  fair,  an'  I  went  cryin' 
around  to  make  him  give  'em  up.n 

He  paused  to  puff  at  his  cigar.  "  Our  honorable 
president,  it  seems  he's  still  a  kid.  Me  an'  him 
played  a  little  game  o'  marbles  last  week.  He  lost. 
An'  now  he's  been  givin'  youse  the  earache.  It's 
the  same  old  holler.  He  says  I  didn't  play  fair.  He 
says  I  tried  to  stuff  the  box  at  the  start.  But  that 
was  just  a  game  on  his  part,  as  I  said  then,  to  throw 
suspicion  on  me;  an,'  anyhow,  no  ballots  got  in.  He 
says  I  stuffed  it  by  a  trick  at  the  last.  What's  his 
proof?  He  says  so.  Convincin' — hey?  Gents,  if 
youse  want  to  stop  his  bawlin',  give  him  back  his 
marbles.  Turn  me  down,  an'  youse  '11  have  about 
what's  comin'  to  youse — a  cry  baby  sport." 

He  kicked  his  chair  back  against  the  wall  and  sat 
down;  and  amidst  all  the  talk  that  followed  he  did 
not  once  rise  or  turn  his  face  direct  to  the  crowd. 
But  when,  finally,  Brown  said,  "  Everybody  in  favor 
of  the  motion  stand  up,"  Foley  rose  to  his  full  height 
with  his  back  against  the  wall,  and  his  withheld  gaze 
now  struck  upon  the  crowd  with  startling  effect.  It 
was  a  phenomenon  of  his  close-set  eyes  that  each  man 
in  a  crowd  thought  them  fixed  upon  himself.  Upon 
every  face  that  gaze  seemed  bent — lean,  sarcastic, 
menacing. 

"  Everybody  that  likes  a  cry  baby  sport,  stand 
up !  "  he  shouted. 

Men  sprang  up  all  over  the  hall,  and  stood  so  till 
the  count  was  made. 

"  Those  opposed,"  Brown  called  out. 


186    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

A  number  equally  great  rose  noisily.  A  glance 
showed  Tom  the  motion  was  lost,  since  a  two-thirds' 
vote  was  necessary  to  rescind  an  action.  But  as  his 
hope  had  been  small,  his  disappointment  was  now  not 
great. 

Foley's  supporters  broke  into  cheers  when  they 
saw  their  leader  was  safe,  but  Foley  himself  walked 
with  up-tilted  cigar  back  to  his  first  seat  in  an  indif 
ferent  silence. 


Chapter  XVII 
THE   ENTERTAINMENT   COMMITTEE 

OURING   the   three   weeks   that   followed 
Tom  kept  busy  day  and  night, — by  day 
looking  for  work  and  talking  to  chance- 
met  members,  by  night  stirring  the  mem 
bers  to  appear  on  the  first  Wednesday  of  April  to  vote 
for  the  demand  for  higher  wages.     He  was  much 
of  the  time  dogged  by  part  of  the  entertainment 
committee,   but  he  had  become  watchful,   and  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  armed  made  them  wary,  so 
day  after  day  passed  without  another  conflict.     At 
first  his  committee's  delay  in  the  discharge  of  their 
duty  stirred  Foley's  wrath.    "  Youse  're  as  slow  as  fat 
angels !  "  he  informed  them  in  disgust.     Later  the 
delay  stirred  his  anxiety,  and  he  raised  his  offer  from 
twenty-five  dollars  a  man  to  one  hundred. 

Every  night  Tom  was  met  at  his  street  door  by 
Petersen  and  left  there  by  him  a  few  hours  later. 
His  frequent  appearance  with  Tom  brought  Peter- 
sen  into  some  prominence ;  and  he  was  promptly  nick 
named  "  Babe  "  by>  a  facetious  member  who  had  been 
struck  by  his  size,  and  "  Rosie  "  by  a  man  who  saw. 
only  his  awkwardness.  Both  names  stuck.  His  re 
lation  to  Tom  had  a  more  unpleasant  result:  it  made 
the  story  of  his  discomfiture  by  a  man  of  half  his 
size,  while  on  the  file-house  job,  decidedly  worth  the 

187 


i88    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

telling;  and  so  it  rapidly  came  into  general  circula 
tion,  and  the  sight  of  Petersen  was  the  signal  for 
jeers,  even  among  Tom's  own  friends.  Petersen 
flushed  at  the  taunts,  but  bore  them  dumbly  and 
kept  his  arms  at  his  side. 

All  this  while  Ruth  was  much  in  Tom's  mind. 
Had  it  not  been  that  he  kept  himself  busy  he  could 
have  done  little  else  but  think  of  her.  As  it  was,  he 
lay  awake  long  hours  at  night,  very  quietly  that  he 
might  not  rouse  his  wife,  in  wide-eyed  dreams  of  her; 
and  several  times  by  day  he  caught  himself  out  of 
thoughts  of  her  to  find  himself  in  a  street  far  out  of 
his  way.  And  once,  in  the  evening,  he  had  puzzled 
the  faithful  Petersen  by  walking  back  and  forth 
through  an  uptown  block  and  gazing  at  a  house  in 
which  no  member  of  the  Iron  Workers'  Union  could 
possibly  be  living.  But  he  held  firmly  to  the  course 
he  had  recognized  as  his  only  course. 

For  three  weeks  he  maintained  his  determination, 
against  desire  scarcely  less  strong  than  his  strength, 
till  the  evening  of  the  first  Tuesday  of  April,  the 
night  before  the  vote  upon  the  strike.  Then,  either 
he  was  weaker,  or  desire  was  stronger.  He  was 
overwhelmed.  His  resolve  to  keep  away  from  her, 
his  intention  to  spend  this  last  evening  in  work,  were 
nothing  before  his  wish  to  see  her  again.  He  was 
fairly  swept  up  to  her  door,  not  heeding  Petersen, 
and  not  giving  a  thought  to  Jake,  whom  he  glimpsed 
once  in  the  street  car  behind  when  a  brief  blockade 
let  it  gain  the  tail  of  his  own. 

"  You  needn't  wait  for  me,"  he  said  mechanically 
to  Petersen  as  he  rang  the  bell.  Again  the  maid 


ENTERTAINMENT   COMMITTEE 

brought  back  word  for  him  to  come  up.  This  time 
Ruth  was  not  waiting  him  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
He  stood  before  her  door  a  moment,  with  burning 
brain,  striving  for  mastery  over  himself,  before  he 
could  knock.  She  called  to  him  to  enter,  and  he 
found  her  leaning  against  her  little  case  of  books, 
unusually  pale,  but  with  eyes  brighter  than  he  had 
ever  seen  them. 

She  took  a  step  toward  him,  and  held  out  her 
hand.  "  I'm  so  glad  you  called,  Mr.  Keating.'* 

Tom,  for  his  part,  could  make  no  answer;  his 
throat  had  suddenly  gone  cracking  dry.  He  took  her 
hand;  his  grip  was  as  loose  as  an  unconscious  man's. 

As  was  the  first  minute,  so  were  the  two  hours  that 
followed.  In  answer  to  her  questions  he  told  her 
of  his  new  plans,  without  a  vestige  of  enthusiasm; 
and  presently,  to  save  the  situation,  she  began  to 
talk  volubly  about  nothing  at  all.  They  were  hours 
of  mutual  constraint.  Tom  hardly  had  knowledge 
of  what  he  said,  and  he  hardly  heard  her  words. 
His  very  nearness  to  her  made  more  ruthlessly  clear 
the  wideness  that  lay  between  them.  He  felt  with 
its  first  keenness  the  utter  hopelessness  of  his  love. 
Every  moment  that  he  sat  with  his  hot  eyes  upon  her 
he  realized  that  he  should  forthwith  go.  But  still 
he  sat  on  in  a  silence  of  blissful  agony. 

At  length  there  came  an  interruption — a  knock  at 
the  door.  Ruth  answered  it,  and  when  she  turned 
about  she  held  out  an  envelope  to  Tom.  "  A  letter 
for  you,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  show  of  surprise. 
"  A  messenger  brought  it." 

Tom  tore  it  open,  looking  first  to  the  signature. 


i9o    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

It  was  from  Pete.  "  I  have  got  a  bunch  of  the  fel 
lows  in  the  hall  over  the  saloon  at  —  Third  Avenue," 
read  the  awkward  scramble  of  words.  "  On  the 
third  floor.  Can't  you  come  in  and  help  me  with 
the  spieling?  " 

At  another  time  Tom  might  have  wondered  at  this 
note:  how  Pete  had  come  to  be  in  a  hall  with  a 
crowd  of  men,  how  Pete  had  learned  where  he  was. 
But  now  the  note  did  not  raise  a  doubt  in  his  fevered 
brain. 

He  folded  the  note,  and  put  it  into  a  pocket. 
"  I've  got  some  work  to  do  yet  to-night,"  he  ex 
plained,  and  he  took  up  his  hat.  It  was  an  unusually 
warm  evening  for  the  first  of  April  and  he  had  worn 
no  overcoat. 

*  You  must  come  again  soon,"  she  said  a  few 
moments  later,  as  he  was  leaving.  Tom  had  noth 
ing  to  say;  he  could  not  tell  her  the  truth — that  he 
expected  never  to  see  her  again.  And  so  he  left  her, 
awkwardly,  without  parting  word  of  any  kind.  At 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  paused  and  looked  up  at  her 
door,  at  the  head  of  the  first  flight,  and  he  looked 
for  a  long,  long  space  before  he  stepped  forth  into 
the  night. 

A  little  round  man  stood  bareheaded  on  the  stoop ; 
Petersen  was  pacing  slowly  to  and  fro  on  the  side 
walk.  The  little  man  seized  Tom  by  the  arm. 
'*  Won't  you  send  a  policeman,  please,"  he  asked 
excitedly,  in  an  inconsequential  voice,  such  as  belongs 
properly  to  the  husband  of  a  boarding-house  mis 
tress. 

"What  for?" 


ENTERTAINMENT   COMMITTEE    191 

"  That  man  there  has  been  walking  just  so,  baek 
and  forth,  for  the  last  two  hours.  From  the  way 
he  keeps  looking  up  at  the  house  it  is  certain  he  is 
contemplating  some  nefarious  act  of  burglary." 

"  I'll  do  better  than  send  a  cop,"  said  Tom.  "  I'll 
take  him  away  myself." 

He  went  down  the  steps,  took  Petersen's  arm  and 
started  off  with  him.  "  Thank  you  exceedingly, 
sir!  "  called  out  the  little  man. 

They  took  an  Eighty-sixth  Street  cross-town  car 
to  Third  Avenue,  and  after  five  minutes'  riding 
southward  Tom,  keeping  watch  from  the  end  of  the 
car,  spied  a  number  near  to  the  one  for  which  he  was 
searching.  They  got  out  and  easily  found  the  place 
designated  in  Pete's  note.  It  was  that  great  rarity, 
a  saloon  in  the  middle  of  a  New  York  block.  The 
windows  of  the  second  floor  were  dark;  a  soft  glow 
came  through  those  of  the  floor  above. 

With  the  rattle  of  the  elevated  trains  in  their  ears 
Tom  and  Petersen  entered  the  hallway  which  ran 
alongside  the  saloon,  and  mounted  two  flights  of 
stairs  so  dark  that,  at  the  top  of  the  second,  Tom  had 
to  grope  for  the  door.  This  discovered,  he  opened 
it  and  found  himself  at  the  rear  of  the  hall.  This 
was  a  barren,  dingy  room,  perhaps  forty  feet  long, 
with  double  curtains  of  some  figured  cloth  at  the 
three  front  windows.  Four  men  sat  at  the  front 
end  of  the  room  playing  cards;  there  were  glasses 
and  beer  bottles  on  the  table,  and  the  men  were 
smoking. 

All  this  Tom  saw  within  the  time  of  the  snapping 
of  an  instantaneous  shutter;  and  he  recognized,  with 


192    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

the  same  swiftness,  that  he  had  been  trapped.  But 
before  he  could  shift  a  foot  to  retreat,  a  terrific 
shove  from  behind  the  door  sent  him  staggering 
against  the  side  wall.  The  door  was  slammed  shut 
by  the  same  force,  grazing  Petersen  as  he  sprang  in. 
The  bolt  of  the  lock  clicked  into  place. 

'We've  got  youse  this  time!"  Tom  heard  a 
harsh  voice  cry  out,  and  on  the  other  side  of  Peter- 
sen,  who  stood  on  guard  with  clenched  fists,  he  saw 
Jake  Henderson,  a  heavy  stick  in  his  right  hand. 

In  the  same  instant  the  men  at  the  table  had 
sprung  to  their  feet.  "  Why,  if  it  ain't  Rosie !  "  cried 
Kaffir  Bill,  advancing  at  the  head  of  the  quartette. 

"  Say,  fellows,  tie  my  two  hands  behind  me,  so's 
me  an'  Rosie  can  have  an  even  fight,"  requested 
Arkansas  Number  Two. 

"  If  youse  want  Rosie  to  fight,  youse  Ve  got  to 
tie  his  feet  together,"  said  Smoky;  and  this  happy 
reference  to  the  time  Petersen  ran  away  brought  a 
laugh  from  the  three  others. 

Tom,  recovering  from  his  momentary  dizziness, 
drew  his  revolver  and  levelled  it  at  the  four.  "  The 
first  man  that  moves  gets  the  first  bullet." 

The  men  suddenly  checked  their  steps. 

For  an  instant  the  seven  made  a  tableau.  Then 
Petersen  sprang  in  at  Jake.  A  blow  from  the  club 
on  his  left  shoulder  stopped  him.  Again  he  sprang 
in,  this  time  breaking  through  Jake's  guard,  but  only 
to  grasp  Jake's  left  arm  with  his  half-numbed  left 
hand.  This  gave  Jake  his  chance.  His  right  hand 
swung  backward  with  the  club,  his  eyes  on  Tom. 

"Look  out!  "  cried  Petersen. 


ENTERTAINMENT   COMMITTEE     193 

Tom,  guessing  danger  in  the  warning,  pulled  the 
trigger.  With  a  cry  Hickey  dropped  to  the  floor, 
a  bullet  in  his  leg.  In  the  very  flash  of  the  revolver 
the  whizzing  club  sent  the  weapon  flying  from  Tom's 
hand.  Tom  made  a  rush  after  the  pistol,  and  Jake, 
breaking  from  Petersen's  grip,  made  a  plunge  on 
the  same  errand.  Both  outstretched  hands  closed 
upon  it,  and  the  two  men  went  sprawling  to  the  floor 
in  a  struggle  for  its  possession. 

Petersen  faced  quickly  about  upon  the  men  whom 
Tom's  revolver  had  made  hesitant.  Hickey  lay 
groaning  and  swearing,  a  little  pool  of  blood  begin 
ning  to  form  on  the  bare  floor.  The  other  three, 
in  their  lust  for  their  reward  now  so  nearly  won, 
gave  Hickey  hardly  a  glance,  but  advanced  upon 
Petersen  with  the  confidence  that  comes  of  being 
three  to  one  and  of  knowing  that  one  to  be  a  coward. 
Petersen  slipped  off  his  coat,  threw  it  together  with 
his  derby  hat  upon  the  floor  near  the  wall,  and  with 
swelling  nostrils  quietly  awaited  their  onslaught. 

Arkansas  stepped  forth  from  his  fellows. 
"  Where'll  I  hit  you  first,  Rosie?  Glad  to  give  you 
your  pref'rence."  And  he  spat  into  the  V  of  Peter- 
sen's  vest. 

That  was  the  last  conscious  moment  of  Arkansas 
for  an  hour.  Petersen  took  a  step  forward,  his  long 
arm  shot  out,  and  Arkansas  went  to  the  floor  all 
a-huddle. 

Tom's  eyes,  glancing  an  instant  from  his  own 
adversary,  saw  the  "  Swedish  Terror  "  of  the  photo 
graph:  left  foot  advanced,  fists  on  guard,  body  low- 
crouched.  "  Come  on!  "  Petersen  said,  with  a  joy- 


i94    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

ous  snarl,  to  the  two  men  who  had  fallen  back  a 
step.  "  Come  on.  I  vant  you  bod!  " 

Kaffir  Bill  looked  hesitantly  upon  his  companion. 
1(  It  was  only  a  lucky  lick,  Smoky;  Arkansas  wasn't 
lookin',"  he  explained  doubtfully. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other. 

"  Sure.  It  couldn't  'a'  been  nothin'  else.  Why, 
Kid  Morgan  done  him  up." 

"  Come  on  then!  "  cried  Smoky. 

Together  they  made  a  rush,  Bill  a  step  in  advance. 
Petersen's  right  landed  over  Bill's  heart.  Bill  went 
tottering  backward  and  to  the  floor.  Smoky  shot 
in  and  clinched;  but  after  Petersen's  fists,  like  alter 
nating  hammers,  had  played  a  terrific  tattoo  against 
his  two  cheeks,  he  loosed  his  hold  and  staggered 
away  with  his  arms  about  his  ears.  Bill  rose  dizzily 
to  his  feet,  and  the  pair  leaned  against  the  further 
wall,  whispering  and  watching  Petersen  with  glower 
ing  irresolution. 

"  Come  on,  bod!  Come  on  vid  you!  "  Petersen 
shouted,  his  fists  moving  back  and  forth  in  invitation, 
his  indrawn  breath  snoring  exultantly. 

Jake  let  out  an  oath.    "  Get  into  him!  "  he  said. 

"  Yah !    Come  on  vid  you  !  " 

They  conferred  a  moment  longer,  and  then  crept 
forward  warily.  Hickey  stopped  his  groaning  and 
rose  to  his  elbows  to  watch  the  second  round.  At 
five  feet  away  the  two  paused.  Then  suddenly 
Smoky  made  a  feint,  keeping  out  of  reach  of  the 
Swede's  swinging  return,-  and  under  cover  of  this 
Kaffir  Bill  ducked  and  lunged  at  Petersen's  legs. 

Petersen    went    floundering    to    the    floor,     and 


ENTERTAINMENT   COMMITTEE    195 

Smoky  hurled  himself  upon  his  chest.  The  three 
became  a  whirling,  tumbling  tangle, — arms  striking 
out,  legs  kicking, — Petersen  now  in  under,  now  half 
free,  striking  and  hugging  with  long-untasted  joy, 
breathing  fierce  grunts  and  strange  ejaculations. 
The  two  had  thought,  once  off  his  feet,  the  Swede 
would  be  an  easy  conquest.  But  Petersen  had  been 
a  mighty  rough-and-tumble  scrapper  before  he  had 
gone  into  the  prize  ring,  and  for  a  few  tumultuous 
moments  the  astounded  twain  had  all  they  could  do 
to  hold  their  own. 

"Slug  him,  can't  youse!"  gasped  Bill,  who  was 
looking  after  Petersen's  lower  half,  to  Smoky,  who 
was  looking  after  the  upper. 

Smoky  likewise  saw  that  only  a  blow  in  the  right 
place  could  give  them  victory  over  this  heaving  force. 
So  far  it  had  taken  his  best  to  hold  these  long 
arms.  But  he  now  loosed  his  hug  to  get  in  the  vic 
torious  blow.  Before  he  could  strike,  Petersen's 
fist  jammed  him  in  the  face. 

"  Ya-a-h!  "  grunted  the  Swede. 

Smoky  fell  instantly  to  his  old  position.  "  Hit 
him  yourself!"  he  growled  from  Petersen's  shirt 
front. 

Bill,  not  having  seen  what  had  happened  to 
Smoky,  released  a  leg  so  that  he  might  put  his  fist 
into  Petersen's  stomach.  The  leg  kicked  his  knee. 
Bill,  with  a  shriek,  frantically  re-embraced  the  leg. 

The  two  now  saw  they  could  do  no  more  than 
merely  hold  Petersen,  and  so  the  struggle  settled  to 
a  stubborn  equilibrium. 

In  the  meantime  the  strife  between  Tom  and  Jake 


196    THE    WALKING   DELEGATE 

had  been  like  that  of  two  bulls  which  stand  braced, 
with  locked  horns.  Jake's  right  hand  had  gained 
possession  of  the  revolver,  having  at  first  had  the 
better  hold  on  it;  Tom  had  a  fierce  grip  on  his 
forearm.  The  whole  effort  of  one  was  to  put  the 
weapon  into  use ;  the  whole  effort  of  the  other  was  to 
prevent  its  use,  and  perhaps  to  seize  it  for  himself. 
Neither  dared  strike  lest  the  act  give  the  other  his 
chance. 

When  he  saw  nothing  was  coming  of  the  struggle 
between  Bill  and  Smoky  and  Petersen,  a  glimpse  of 
the  wounded  man,  raised  on  his  elbows,  gave  Jake 
an  idea.  With  a  jerk  of  his  wrist  he  managed  to  toss 
the  revolver  a  couple  of  feet  away,  beyond  his  own 
and  Tom's  reach. 

"  Hickey!  "  he  called  out.    "  Get  it!  " 

The  wounded  man  moved  toward  them,  half 
crawling,  half  dragging  himself.  A  vengeful  look 
came  into  his  eyes.  Tom  needed  no  one  to  tell  him 
what  would  happen  when  the  man  he  had  shot  laid 
hand  upon  his  weapon.  Hickey  drew  nearer  and 
nearer,  his  bloody  trouser  leg  leaving  a  moist  trail 
on  the  bare  floor.  His  head  reached  their  feet — 
passed  them — his  right  hand  stretched  out  for  the 
revolver.  Tom  saw  his  only  chance.  With  a 
supreme  effort  he  turned  Jake,  who  in  watching 
Hickey  was  momentarily  off  his  guard,  upon  his 
back;  and  with  all  the  strength  of  his  leg  he  drove 
his  foot  into  the  crawling  man's  stomach.  The  man 
collapsed  with  a  groaning  outrush  of  breath. 

Tom  saw  that  the  deadlock  was  likely  to  be  ended, 
and  the  victory  won,  by  the  side  gaining  possession 


ENTERTAINMENT   COMMITTEE    197 

of  the  revolver;  and  he  saw  the  danger  to  Petersen 
and  himself  that  lay  in  the  possibility  of  either  of  the 
unconscious  men  regaining  his  senses.  Petersen's 
slow  mind  worked  rapidly  enough  in  a  fight;  he,  too, 
saw  the  danger  Tom  had  seen.  Anything  to  be  done 
must  be  done  at  once. 

But  a  nearer  danger  presented  itself.  Jake  strained 
his  neck  till  his  eyes  were  on  the  trio.  "  Can't 
one  o'  youse  hold  him?  "  he  gasped.  "  T'other  git 
the  gun." 

Smoky  was  on  his  back  crosswise  beneath  Peter- 
sen's  chest,  his  arms  tight  about  Petersen's  neck, 
clamping  Petersen's  hot  cheek  against  his  own.  Kaf 
fir  Bill  lay  upon  the  Swede's  legs,  arms  locked  about 
them  just  below  the  hips.  Bill  was  the  freer  to  obey 
the  order  of  the  chief,  and  he  began  to  slip  his  arms, 
still  embracing  the  legs,  slowly  downward. 

Certainly  anything  to  be  done  must  be  done  at 
once,  for  Petersen,  lost  to  passion  though  he  was, 
knew  that  in  another  moment  Bill's  arms  would  have 
slipped  to  his  feet,  and  there  would  be  a  spring  to  be 
clear  of  his  kick  and  a  rush  for  the  revolver.  With 
a  fierce  grunt,  he  quickly  placed  his  broad  hands  on 
either  side  of  Smoky's  chest  and  slowly  strained 
upward.  Bill,  not  knowing  what  this  new  move 
meant,  immediately  regripped  Petersen's  thighs. 
Slowly  Petersen  rose,  lifting  Smoky's  stiffened  body 
after  him,  cheek  still  tight  against  cheek,  till  his 
elbows  locked.  Then  his  hips  gradually  raised  till 
part  of  his  weight  was  on  his  knees.  His  back 
arched  upward,  and  his  whole  body  stiffened  till  it 
was  like  a  bar  of  iron. 


198    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

Suddenly  his  arms  relaxed,  and  he  drove  down 
ward,  his  weight  and  strength  concentrated  against 
Smoky's  cheek.  Smoky's  head  battered  the  floor. 
His  arms  loosened;  a  quick  blow  on  the  jaw  made 
them  fall  limp.  Petersen  whirled  madly  over  to  dis 
pose  of  Bill,  but  in  the  same  tick  of  the  watch  Bill 
sprang  away,  and  to  his  feet,  and  made  a  dash  for 
the  revolver.  Instantly  Petersen  was  up  and  but 
two  paces  behind  him.  Bill's  lunging  hand  fell  upon 
the  weapon,  Petersen's  fist  fell  upon  Bill,  and  the 
revolver  was  Petersen's. 

When  Jake  saw  Petersen  come  up  with  the  pistol 
he  took  his  arms  from  about  Tom.  "  Youse  Ve  got 
me  done.  I  give  in,"  he  growled. 

The  two  were  rising  when  a  wild  voice  sounded 
out  hoarsely:  "  Come  on!  Come  on  now  vid  you!  " 

Tom,  on  his  feet,  turned  toward  Petersen.  The 
Swede,  left  hand  gripping  the  revolver  about  its 
barrel,  stood  in  challenging  attitude,  his  eyes  blaz 
ing,  saliva  trickling  from  one  corner  of  his  mouth. 
"Yah!  Come  on!" 

Tom  recognized  what  he  was  seeing, — that  wild 
Swedish  rage  that  knows  neither  when  it  has  beat 
nor  when  it  is  beaten;  in  this  case  all  the  less  con 
trollable  from  its  long  restraint. 

Pete,  Smoky,  and  Bill  were  now  all  on  their  feet 
and  leaning  against  the  wall.  Petersen  strode  glar 
ing  before  them,  shaking  his  great  fists  madly. 
"  Come  on  now !  " 

"  Petersen!  "  Tom  called. 

"  Come  on  vid  you !  I  vant  all  dree !  "  The  harsh 
voice  rose  into  a  shriek. 


ENTERTAINMENT   COMMITTEE    199 

The  three  did  not  move.  "  For  God's  sake,  Peter- 
sen  !  The  fight's  over!  "  Tom  cried. 

"  Afraid!    Yah!    Afraid!    I  lick  you  all  dree!" 

With  an  animal-like  roar  he  rushed  at  the  three 
men.  Smoky  and  Bill  ducked  and  dashed  away, 
but  Jake  stood  his  ground  and  put  up  his  fists.  A 
blow  and  he  went  to  the  floor.  Petersen  flung  about 
to  make  for  Smoky  and  Bill.  Tom  seized  his  arm. 

"God,  man!    Stop!    They've  give  in!" 

"  Look  out!  "  A  shove  sent  Tom  staggering,  and 
Petersen  was  away.  "  I  lick  'em  all,  by  God!  "  he 
roared. 

With  annihilating  intent  he  bore  down  upon  Bill 
and  Smoky,  who  stood  back  to  wall  on  fearful  de 
fense.  An  inspiration  flashed  upon  Tom.  "  Your 
wife,  Petersen!  Your  wife!  "  he  cried. 

Petersen's  raging  strides  checked.  He  looked 
slowly  about.  "  Vot?  " 

"  Your  wife!" 

"  Anna !  .  .  .  Anna !  "  Dazed,  breathing 
heavily,  he  stared  at  Tom.  Something  like  a  con 
vulsion  went  through  him.  His  face  faded  to  dull 
ness,  then  to  contrition. 

"  Better  let  me  have  the  gun,"  Tom  said  quietly, 
after  a  minute  had  passed. 

Petersen  handed  it  over. 

"  Now  get  your  hat  and  coat,  and  we'll  go." 

Without  glancing  at  the  three,  who  were  staring 
at  him  in  utter  bewilderment,  Petersen  dully  put  on 
his  hat  and  coat.  A  moment  later  he  and  Tom  were 
backing  toward  the  door.  But  before  they  reached 
it  Tom's  steady  gaze  became  conscious  of  the  cur- 


200    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

tains  at  the  further  end  of  the  room.  His  square 
face  tightened  grimly  with  sudden  purpose. 

"  Take  down  those  curtains,  Petersen,"  he  said. 

Petersen  removed  the  six  curtains,  dusty  and 
stained  with  tobacco  juice,  from  their  places  and 
brought  them  to  Tom. 

"  Tear  five  of  'em  into  two  strips." 

The  three  men,  and  Hickey  from  the  floor,  looked 
on  curiously  while  Petersen  obeyed. 

"  Tie  Jake  up  first;  hands  behind  his  back,"  was 
Tom's  next  order. 

"  I'll  see  youse  in  hell  first!  "  Jake  backed  away 
from  Petersen  and  raised  his  fists. 

"  If  you  make  any  trouble,  I'll  give  you  a  quick 
chance  to  look  around  there  a  bit !  " 

Jake  gazed  a  moment  at  the  revolver  and  the 
gleaming  eye  behind  it,  and  his  fists  dropped.  Peter- 
sen  stepped  behind  him  and  went  to  work,  twisting 
the  strip  of  muslin  into  a  rope  as  he  wound  it  about 
Jake's  wrists.  The  job  was  securely  done  in  a 
minute,  for  Petersen  had  once  followed  the  sea. 

"  Now  his  feet,"  said  Tom;  and  to  Jake:  "  It  '11 
be  easier  for  you  if  you  lay  down." 

Jake  hesitated,  then  with  an  oath  dropped  to  his 
knees  and  tumbled  awkwardly  on  his  side.  In 
another  minute  Jake's  feet  were  fastened;  and  at  the 
end  of  ten  minutes  the  other  four  men  had  been 
bound,  even  the  wounded  Hickey. 

Tom  put  his  revolver  in  his  outside  coat  pocket, 
and  unlocked  the  door.  "  Good-night,"  he  said;  and 
he  and  Petersen  stepped  out.  He  locked  the  door 
and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket. 


ENTERTAINMENT   COMMITTEE    201 

"  Police?  "  asked  Petersen,  when  they  had  gained 
the  street. 

"  No.  That's  what  they  ought  to  have.  But 
when  you've  been  a  union  man  longer  you'll  know  we 
boys  don't  ask  the  police  to  mix  in  our  affairs.  When 
there's  a  strike,  they're  always  turned  against  us  by 
the  bosses.  So  we  leave  'em  alone." 

They  were  but  half  a  dozen  squares  from  Mulli 
gan's  saloon.  Tom  set  out  in  its  direction,  and  five 
minutes  later,  with  Petersen  behind  him,  he  walked 
into  the  doorway  of  the  room  beyond  the  bar.  As 
he  had  expected,  there  sat  Foley,  and  with  him  were 
three  of  his  men.  Foley  started,  and  half  rose  from 
his  chair,  but  settled  back  again.  His  discomposure 
confirmed  what  Tom  had  already  guessed — that 
Foley's  was  the  brain  behind  the  evening's  stratagem, 
and  that  he  was  awaiting  his  deputies'  report. 

"  I  guess  you  were  expecting  somebody  else,"  Tom 
said  grimly  from  the  doorway,  one  hand  on  the 
revolver  in  his  coat  pocket.  "  I  just  dropped  in  to 
tell  you  Jake  Henderson  and  his  bunch  are  waiting 
for  you  up  over  Murphy's  saloon." 

Foley  was  dazed,  as  he  could  not  help  but  be, 
thus  learning  his  last  plan  had  failed.  "  Youse  saw 
'em?" 

"  I  did." 

He  looked  Tom  over.  And  then  his  eyes  took  in 
the  figure  of  Petersen  just  within  the  doorway.  He 
grasped  instinctively  at  the  chance  to  raise  a  laugh. 
"Was  Rosie  there?"  he  queried. 

The  three  dutifully  guffawed. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom.    "  Rosie  was  there." 


202    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

Foley  took  a  bracing  hold  of  himself,  and  toyed 
with  the  stem  of  his  beer  glass.  "  Much  obliged  for 
comin'  in  to  tell  me,"  he  said,  with  a  show  of  care 
lessness.  "  But  I  guess  the  boys  ain't  in  no  hurry." 

"  No,  I  guess  not,"  Tom  agreed.  "  They  said 
they'd  wait  till  you  came." 

With  that  he  tossed  the  key  upon  the  table, 
turned  and  strode  forth  from  the  saloon.  Outside 
he  thrust  a  gripping  arm  through  Petersen's,  which 
straightway  took  on  an  embarrassed  limpness,  and 
walked  away. 


Chapter  XVIII 
THE    STOLEN    STRIKE 


mounted  the  stairs  of  Potomac  Hall 
early  the  next  evening.  During  the  day 
he  had  told  a  few  friends  the  story  of  the 
encounter  of  the  night  before.  The  story 
had  spread  in  versions  more  or  less  vague  and  dis 
torted,  and  now  on  his  entry  of  the  hall  he  was 
beset  by  a  crowd  who  demanded  a  true  and  detailed 
account  of  the  affair.  This  he  gave. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Tom!  This's  hot  air  you're 
handin'  us  out  about  Babe  1  "  expostulated  one  of  the 
men.' 

"  It's  the  truth." 

"  Get  out!  I  saw  Kid  Morgan  chase  him  a  block. 
He  can't  fight." 

"  You  think  not?  Well,  there's  one  way  you  can 
convince  yourself." 

"  How's  that?" 

"  Try  it  with  him  for  about  a  minute,"  answered 
Tom. 

There  was  a  laugh,  in  which  the  man  joined.  "  I 
tell  you  what,  boys,"  he  said,  after  it  had  subsided. 
"  I  hit  Babe  on  the  back  o'  the  neck  with  a  glove  the 
day  Kid  chased  him.  If  what  Tom  says  is  straight, 
I'm  goin'  to  beg  Babe's  pardon  in  open  meetin'." 

203 


204    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  Me,  too,"  chimed  in  another. 

"  It's  so,"  said  Tom,  thinking  with  a  smile  of 
what  was  in  store  for  Petersen. 

For  some  reason,  perhaps  one  having  to  do  with 
their  personal  pride,  Jake  and  his  fellows  did  not 
appear  that  night,  though  several  hundred  men  waited 
their  coming  with  impatient  greetings.  But  just 
before  Tom  opened  the  session  Petersen  entered 
the  hall  and  slipped  into  an  obscure  seat  near  the 
door. 

He  was  immediately  recognized.  "  Petersen !  " 
someone  announced.  Straightway  men  arose  all 
over  the  hall  and  turned  about  to  face  him.  "  Peter- 
sen!"  "Petersen!"  "What's  the  matter  with 
Petersen !  "  the  cries  went  up,  and  there  was  a  great 
clapping  of  hands. 

Petersen  sprang  to  his  feet  in  wild  consternation. 
Yes,  they  were  looking  at  him.  Yes,  that  was  his 
name.  He  didn't  know  what  it  meant 

But  the  next  instant  he  had  bolted  out  of  the  hall. 

When  the  shouting  had  died  away  Tom  called  the 
union  to  order.  He  was  filled  with  an  exultant  sense 
of  certain  triumph;  he  had  kept  an  estimating  eye 
on  the  members  as  they  had  filed  in;  an  easy 
majority  of  the  men  were  with  him,  and  as  their 
decision  would  be  by  open  vote  there  would  be  no 
chance  for  Foley  to  stuff  a  ballot-box. 

Pete,  the  instructed  spokesman  for  Tom's  party, 
was  the  first  man  on  his  feet.  "  Mr.  President,"  he 
said,  "  I  move  we  drop  the  reg'lar  order  o'  business 
an'  proceed  at  once  to  new  business." 

Tom  put  the  motion  to   rising  vote.     His  con- 


THE    STOLEN    STRIKE         205 

fidence  grew  as  he  looked  about  the  hall,  for  the 
rising  vote  on  the  motion  showed  how  strong  his 
majority  really  was. 

"Motion  carried!"  he  shouted,  and  brought 
down  his  gavel. 

The  next  instant  a  dozen  men  were  on  their  feet 
waving  their  right  hands  and  crying,  "  Mr.  Chair 
man."  One  was  Pete,  ten  were  good-intentioned  but 
uninformed  friends,  and  one  was  Foley.  Tom's 
eyes  fastened  upon  Foley,  and  his  mind  worked 
quickly. 

"  Mr.  Foley,"  he  said. 

A  murmur  of  surprise  ran  among  Tom's  friends. 
But  he  had  his  reason  for  this  slight  deviation  from 
his  set  plan.  He  knew  that  Foley  was  opposed  to  a 
strike;  if  he  let  Foley  go  on  record  against  it  in  a 
public  speech,  then  his  coming  victory  over  the  walk 
ing  delegate  would  be  all  the  more  decisive. 

Foley  looked  slowly  about  upon  the  men,  and  for 
a  moment  did  not  speak.  Then  he  said  suddenly,  in 
a  conversational  tone :  "  Boys,  how  much  youse 
gettin'?" 

"  Three  seventy-five,"  several  voices  answered. 

"  How  long  youse  been  gettin'  it?  " 

"  Two  years." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  his  voice  rising  and  ringing  with 
intensity.  u  Two  years  youse  Ve  been  workin'  for 
three  seventy-five.  The  bosses'  profits  have  been 
grow  in'  bigger  an'  bigger.  But  not  a  cent's  raise 
have  youse  had.  Not  a  cent,  boys!  Now  here's 
what  I  say." 

He  paused,  and  thrust  out  his  right  arm  impres- 


206    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

sively.  Tom  regarded  him  in  sickened,  half-com 
prehending  amazement. 

"  Here's  what  I  say,  boys !  I  say  it's  time  we  had 
more  money.  I  say  we  ought  to  make  the  blood- 
suckin'  bosses  give  up  a  part  o'  what's  comin'  to  us. 
That's  what  I  say  I  "  And  he  swung  his  doubled 
fist  before  his  face  in  a  great  semi-circle. 

He  turned  to  Tom,  with  a  leer  in  his  eyes  that  was 
for  Tom  alone.  "  Mr.  President,  I  move  we  demand 
a  ten  per  cent,  increase  o'  wages,  an'  if  the  bosses 
won't  give  it,  strike  for  it!  " 

Tom  sank  stupefied  back  in  his  chair.  Foley's 
own  men  were  bewildered  utterly.  A  dead  silence 
of  a  minute  or  more  reigned  in  the  hall,  while  all  but 
the  walking  delegate  strove  to  recover  their  bearing. 

It  was  Connelly  who  broke  the  general  trance. 
Connelly  did  not  understand,  but  there  was  Foley's 
standing  order,  "  Watch  me,  an'  do  the  same."  u  I 
second  the  motion,"  he  said. 

A  little  later  Foley's  strike  measure  was  carried 
without  a  single  dissenting  vote.  Foley,  Connelly, 
Brown,  Pete,  and  Tom,  with  Foley  as  chairman,  were 
elected  the  committee  to  negotiate  with  the  employers 
for  higher  wages,  and,  if  there  should  be  a  strike, 
to  manage  it. 

The  adoption  of  the  strike  measure  meant  to  Foley 
that  the  income  derived  from  Mr.  Baxter,  and  two  or 
three  others  with  whom  he  maintained  somewhat  sim 
ilar  relations,  was  to  be  cut  off.  But  before  he 
reached  home  that  night  he  had  discovered  a  com 
pensation  for  this  loss,  and  he  smiled  with  grim  satis 
faction.  The  next  morning  he  presented  himself  in 


THE    STOLEN    STRIKE         20; 

the  office  of  Mr.  Baxter,  and  this  same  grim  smile 
was  on  his  face. 

"Hello,  Baxter!  How  youse  stackin'  up  this 
mornin'?  "  And  he  clapped  a  hand  on  Mr.  Baxter's 
artistically  padded  shoulder. 

The  contractor  started  at  this  familiarity,  and  a 
slight  frown  showed  itself  on  his  brow.  "  Very  well," 
he  said  shortly. 

"  Really,  now.  Why,  youse  look  like  youse  slept 
alongside  a  bad  dream."  Foley  drew  forth  his  cigar- 
case  and  held  it  out.  He  knew  Mr.  Baxter  did  not 
smoke  cigars  and  hated  their  smell. 

"  No,  thank  you." 

The  walking  delegate  put  one  in  his  mouth  and 
scratched  a  match  under  the  edge  of  the  cherry  table. 
"  I  don't  s'pose  youse  know  there  was  doin's  at  the 
union  last  night?  " 

"  I  understand  the  union  decided  to  strike." 

"  Wonderful,  ain't  it,  how  quick  news  travels?  " 

Mr.  Baxter  disregarded  Foley's  look  of  mock  sur 
prise.  "  You  seem  to  have  failed  utterly  to  keep 
your  promise  that  there  would  be  no  strike,"  he  said 
coldly. 

"  It  was  Keating  stirred  it  up,"  Foley  returned, 
calmly  biting  a  bit  off  his  cigar  and  blowing  it  out 
upon  the  deep  red  rug. 

"  You  also  failed  to  stop  Mr.  Keating,"  Mr.  Bax 
ter  pursued. 

"  Mr.  Baxter,  even  the  best  of  us  makes  our  mis 
takes.  I  bet  even  youse  ain't  cheated  every  man 
youse  Ve  counted  on  cheatin'." 

Mr.  Baxter  gave  another  little  start,  as  when  Foley 


208    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

had  slapped  his  shoulder.  "  Furthermore,  I  under 
stand  you,  yourself,  made  the  motion  to  strike." 

"  The  way  youse  talk  sometimes,  Baxter,  makes 
me  think  youse  must  'a'  been  born  about  minute  be 
fore  last,"  Foley  returned  blandly.  "As  an  amachure 
diplomat,  youse  Ve  got  Mayor  Low  skinned  to  death. 
Sure  I  made  the  motion.  An'  why  did  I  make  the 
motion?  If  I  hadn't  'a'  made  it,  but  had  opposed 
it,  where'd  I  'a'  been  ?  About  a  thousand  miles  out 
side  the  outskirts  o'  nowhere, — nobody  in  the  union, 
an'  consequently  worth  about  as  much  to  youse  as  a 
hair  in  a  bowl  o'  soup.  I  stood  to  lose  both.  I  still 
got  the  union." 

"  What  do  you  propose  that  we  do?  "  Mr.  Bax 
ter  held  himself  in,  for  the  reason  that  he  supposed 
the  old  relation  would  merely  give  place  to  a  new. 

"  Well,  there's  goin'  to  be  strike.  The  union  '11 
make  a  demand,  an'  I  rather  guess  youse  '11  not  give 
up  without  a  fight." 

"We  shall  certainly  fight,"  Mr.  Baxter  assured 
him. 

"  Well,"  he  drawled,  "  since  I've  got  to  lead  the 
union  in  a  strike  an'  youse  're  goin'  to  fight  the  strike, 
it  seems  like  everything  'd  have  to  be  off  between  us, 
don't  it?" 

Mr.  Baxter  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  then  did  not 
answer  the  question.  "  What  are  you  going  to  'do  ?  " 

"  To  tell  youse,  that  is  just  what  I  came  here  for." 
In  a  flash  Foley's  manner  changed  from  the  playful 
to  the  vindictive,  and  he  leaned  slowly  forward  in 
his  chair.  "  I'm  goin'  to  fight  youse,  Baxter,  an'  fight 
youse  like  hell !  "  he  said,  between  barely  parted  teeth. 


THE    STOLEN    STRIKE         209 

And  his  gray  eyes,  suddenly  hard,  gazed  maliciously 
into  Mr.  Baxter's  face. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  fight  like  hell!  "  he  went  on.  "  For 
two  years  I've  been  standin'  your  damned  manicured 
manners.  Youse  Ve  acted  like  I  wasn't  fit  to  touch. 
Why  d'youse  s'pose  I've  stood  it?  Because  it  was 
money  to  me.  Now  that  there's  no  money  in  it, 
d'youse  s'pose  I'm  goin'  to  stand  it  any  longer?  Not 
much,  by  God!  And  d'youse  think  I've  forgotten 
the  past — your  high-nosed,  aristocratic  ways?  Well, 
youse  '11  remember  'em  too !  My  chance's  come,  an' 
I'm  goin'  to  fight  youse  like  hell !  " 

At  the  last  Foley's  clenched  fist  was  under  Mr. 
Baxter's  nose.  The  contractor  did  not  stir  the 
breadth  of  a  hair.  "  Mr.  Foley,"  he  said  in  his  cold, 
even  voice,  "  I  think  you  know  the  shortest  way  out 
of  this  office." 

"  I  do,"  said  Foley.  "  An'  it's  a  damned  sight  too 
long!" 

He  gave  Mr.  Baxter  a  long  look,  full  of  defiant 
hate,  contemptuously  filliped  his  half-smoked  cigar 
on  Mr.  Baxter's  spotless  desk,  and  strode  out. 


Chapter  XIX 
FOLEY    TASTES    REVENGE 

EOLEY'S  threat  that,  under  cover  of  the 
strike,  he  was  going  to  make  Mr.  Baxter 
suffer,  was  anything  save  empty  bluster. 
But  twenty  years  of  fighting  had  made 
him  something  of  a  connoisseur  of  vengeance.     He 
knew,  for  instance,  that  a  moment  usually  presented 
itself  when  revenge  was  most  effective  and  when  it 
tasted  sweetest.     So  he  now  waited  for  time  to  bring 
him    that   moment;    and   he    waited    all    the    more 
patiently  because  a  month  must  elapse  ere  the  begin 
ning  of  the  strike  would  afford  him  his  chance. 

The  month  passed  dully.  Buck  had  spoken  from 
certain  knowledge  when  he  had  remarked  to  Mr. 
Baxter  that  the  contractors  would  not  yield  without  a 
fight.  During  April  there  were  no  less  than  half  a 
dozen  meetings  between  the  union's  committee  and 
the  Executive  Committee  of  the  employers'  associa 
tion  in  a  formal  attempt  at  peaceful  settlement.  The 
public  attitude  of  Foley  and  Baxter  toward  each  other 
for  the  past  two  years  had  been  openly  hostile.  That 
attitude  was  not  changed,  but  it  was  now  sincere.  In 
these  meetings  the  unionists  presented  their  case;  the 
employers  gave  their  side;  every  point,  pro  and  con, 
was  gone  over  again  and  again.  On  the  thirtieth  of 

210 


FOLEY   TASTES   REVENGE    211 

April  the  situation  was  just  as  it  had  been  on  the  first: 
"  We're  goin'  to  get  all  we're  askin'  for,"  said  Foley; 
"  We  can  concede  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Baxter.  On 
the  first  of  May  not  a  man  was  at  work  on  an  iron 
job  in  New  York  City. 

During  these  four  weeks  Foley  regained  popularity 
with  an  astounding  rapidity.  He  was  again  the 
Foley  of  four  or  five  years  ago,  the  Foley  that  had 
won  the  enthusiastic  admiration  of  the  union,  fierce- 
tongued  in  his  denunciation  of  the  employers  at 
union  meetings,  grimly  impudent  to  members  of  the 
employers'  Executive  Committee  and  matching  their 
every  argument, — at  all  times  witty,  resourceful, 
terribly  determined,  fairly  hurling  into  others  a  con 
fidence  in  himself.  He  was  feeling  with  almost  its 
first  freshness  the  joy  of  being  in,  and  master  of,  a 
great  fight.  Men  that  for  years  had  spoken  of  him 
only  in  hate,  now  cheered  him.  And  even  Tom  him 
self  had  to  yield  to  this  new  Foley  a  reluctant  admi 
ration,  he  was  so  tireless,  so  aggressive,  so  equal  to 
the  occasion. 

Tom  had  become,  by  the  first  of  May,  a  figure  of 
no  importance.  True,  he  was  a  member  of  the  strike 
committee,  but  Foley  gave  him  no  chance  to  speak; 
and,  anyhow,  the  walking  delegate  said  what  there 
was  to  be  said  so  pointedly,  albeit  with  a  virulence 
that  antagonized  the  employers  all  the  more,  that 
there  was  no  reason  for  his  saying  aught.  And  as 
for  his  position  as  president,  that  had  become  pathet 
ically  ludicrous.  As  though  in  opposite  pans  of  a 
balance,  the  higher  Foley  went  in  the  union's  estima 
tion,  die  lower  went  he.  Even  his  own  friends,  while 


212    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

not  abandoning  him,  fell  in  behind  Foley.  He  was 
that  pitiable  anomaly,  a  leader  without  a  following 
and  without  a  cause.  Foley  had  stolen  both.  He 
tried  to  console  himself  with  the  knowledge  that  the 
walking  delegate  was  managing  the  strike  for  the 
union's  good;  but  only  the  millionth  man  has  so  little 
personal  ambition  that  he  is  content  to  see  the  work 
he  would  do  being  well  done  by  another 
And  yet,  though  fallen,  he  hung  obstinately  on  and 
waited — blindly. 

Tom  was  now  in  little  danger  from  the  entertain 
ment  committee,  for  Foley's  disquiet  over  his  influence 
had  been  dissipated  by  his  rapid  decline.  And  after 
the  first  of  May  Tom  gave  Foley  even  less  con 
cern,  for  he  had  finally  secured  work  in  the  shipping 
department  of  a  wholesale  grocer,  so  could  no  longer 
show  himself  by  day  among  the  union  men. 

During  April  the  contractors  had  prepared  for  the 
coming  fight  by  locating  non-union  ironworkers,  and 
during  the  first  part  of  May  they  rushed  these  into  the 
city  and  set  them  to  work,  guarded  by  Pinkerton 
detectives,  upon  the  most  pressing  jobs.  The  union, 
in  its  turn,  picketed  every  building  on  which  there 
was  an  attempt  to  continue  work,  and  against  the 
scabs  the  pickets  waged  a  more  or  less  pacific  warfare. 
Foley  was  of  himself  as  much  as  all  the  pickets.  He 
talked  to  the  non-union  men  as  they  came  up  to  their 
work,  as  they  left  their  work,  as  they  rode  away  on 
street  cars,  as  they  sat  in  saloons.  Some  he  reached 
by  his  preachment  of  the  principles  of  trade  unionism. 
And  some  he  reached  by  such  brief  speech  as  this: 
"  This  strike  '11  be  settled  soon.  Our  men  '11  all  go 


FOLEY  TASTES   REVENGE    213 

back  to  work.  What  '11  happen  to  youse  about  then  ? 
The  bosses  '11  kick  youse  out.  If  youse  're  wise 
youse  '11  join  the  union  and  help  us  in  the  strike." 
This  argument  was  made  more  effective  by  the  tem 
porary  lifting  of  the  initiation  fee  of  twenty-five 
dollars,  by  which  act  scabs  were  made  union  men 
without  price.  There  was  also  a  third  method,  which 
Foley  called  "  transmittin'  unionism  to  the  brain  by 
the  fist,"  and  he  reached  many  this  way,  for  his  fist 
was  heavy  and  had  a  strong  arm  behind  it. 

The  contractors,  in  order  to  retain  the  non-union 
men,  raised  their  wages  to  fifty  cents  a  day  more  than 
the  union  demanded,  but  even  then  they  were  able 
to  hold  only  enough  workers  to  keep  a  few  jobs  going 
in  half-hearted  fashion.  There  were  many  accidents 
and  delays  on  these  buildings,  for  the  workers  were 
boilermakers,  and  men  who  but  half  knew  the  trade, 
and  men  who  did  not  know  the  trade  at  all.  As 
Pete  remarked,  after  watching,  from  a  neighboring 
roof,  the  gang  finishing  up  the  work  on  the  St.  Etienne 
Hotel,  "  The  shadder  of  an  ironworker  would  do 
more'n  three  o'  them  snakes."  The  contractors 
themselves  realized  perfectly  what  poor  work  they 
were  getting  for  so  extravagant  a  price,  and  would 
have  discharged  their  non-union  gangs  had  this  not 
been  a  tacit  admission  of  partial  defeat. 

From  the  first  of  May  there  of  course  had  been 
several  hot-heads  who  favored  violent  handling  of 
the  scabs.  Tom  opposed  these  with  the  remnant  * 
of  his  influence,  for  he  knew  the  sympathy  of  the 
public  has  its  part  in  the  settlement  of  strikes,  and 
public  sympathy  goes  not  to  the  side  guilty  of  outrage. 


2i4    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

The  most  rabid  of  all  these  advocates  of  violence  was 
Johnson,  who,  after  being  summoned  to  Mr.  Baxter's 
office,  began  diligently  to  preach  this  substance:  "  If 
we  put  a  dozen  or  two  o'  them  snakes  out  o'  business, 
an'  fix  a  job  or  two,  the  bosses  '11  come  right  to  time." 

"  It  strikes  me,  Johnson,  that  you  change  your 
ideas  about  as  often  as  you  ought  to  change  your 
shirt,"  Pete  remarked  one  day,  after  listening  to 
Johnson's  inflammatory  words.  "  Not  long  ago  you 
were  all  against  a  strike." 

For  a  moment  Johnson  was  disconcerted.  Then 
he  said:  "  But  since  there  is  a  strike  I'm  for  measures 
that  '11  settle  it  quick.  What  you  got  against  smashin' 
a  few  scabs?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  always  right  to  smash  a  scab,"  Pete 
agreed.  "  But  you  ought  to  know  that  just  now 
there's  nothin'  the  bosses'd  rather  have  us  do.  They'd 
pay  good  money  to  get  us  to  give  the  hospitals  a 
chance  to  practice  up  on  a  few  snakes." 

Johnson  looked  at  Pete  searchingly,  fearing  that 
Pete  suspected.  But  Pete  guessed  nothing,  and  John 
son  went  about  his  duty. 

There  were  a  number  of  encounters  between  the 
strikers  and  the  strike-breakers,  and  several  of  these 
set-tos  had  an  oral  repetition  in  the  police  courts;  but 
nothing  occurred  so  serious  as  to  estrange  public  sym 
pathy  till  the  explosion  in  the  Avon,  a  small  apart 
ment  house  Mr.  Baxter  was  erecting  as  a  private 
investment.  And  with  this  neither  Johnson  nor  the 
rank  and  file,  on  whose  excitable  feelings  he  tried  to 
play,  had  anything  to  do. 

Foley's  patience  mastered  his  desire  for  vengeance 


FOLEY   TASTES   REVENGE    215 

easily  enough  during  April,  but  when  May  had 
reached  its  middle  without  offering  the  chance  he 
wanted,  his  patience  weakened  and  desire  demanded 
its  rights.  At  an  utterly  futile  meeting  between  the 
committees  of  the  union  and  the  employers,  toward  the 
end  of  the  month,  arranged  for  by  the  Civic  Feder 
ation,  the  desire  for  vengeance  suddenly  became  the 
master.  This  was  the  first  meeting  since  the  strike 
began,  and  was  the  first  time  Foley  had  seen  Mr. 
Baxter  since  then.  The  contractor  did  not  once  look 
at  Foley,  and  did  not  once  address  speech  to  him ;  he 
sat  with  his  back  to  the  walking  delegate,  and  put  all 
his  remarks  to  Brown,  the  least  important  member  of 
the  strikers'  committee.  Foley  gave  as  good  as  he 
received,  for  he  selected  Isaacs,  who  was  nothing 
more  than  a  fifth  man,  and  addressed  him  as  head  of 
the  employers'  committee;  and  rather  better,  for  he 
made  Mr.  Baxter  the  object  of  a  condescending  affa 
bility  that  must  have  been  as  grateful  as  salt  to  raw 
and  living  flesh. 

But  Foley  was  not  appeased.  When  he  and  Con 
nelly  were  clear  of  the  meeting  he  swore  fiercely. 
"He  won't  be  so  cool  to-morrow!"  he  said,  and 
swore  again.  "  An'  the  same  trick  '11  help  bring  'em 
all  to  time,"  he  added. 

Foley  had  already  had  vengeful  eyes  upon  the 
Avon,  which  stood  on  a  corner  with  a  vacant  lot  on 
one  side  and  an  open  space  between  its  rear  and  the 
next  building.  Jake  had  carefully  reconnoitered  its 
premises,  with  the  discovery  that  one  of  the  two 
Pinkerton  guards  was  an  acquaintance  belonging  to 
the  days  when  he  himself  had  been  in  the  service  of 


216    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

the  Pinkerton  agency.  That  night  Jake  sauntered  by 
the  Avon,  chatted  awhile  with  the  two  guards,  and 
suggested  a  visit  to  a  nearby  saloon.  As  soon  as  the 
three  were  safely  around  the  corner  Kaffir  Bill  and 
Arkansas  Number  Two  slipped  into  the  doorway  of 
the  Avon,  leaving  Smoky  on  watch  without.  Bill 
and  Arkansas  had  their  trouble :  to  find  their  way 
about  in  the  darkness,  to  light  the  fuse — and  then  they 
had  to  cut  off  an  unignitable  portion  of  the  fuse; 
and  then  in  their  nervous  eagerness  to  get  away  their 
legs  met  a  barrel  of  cement  and  they  went  sprawling 
behind  a  partition.  Several  moments  passed  ere  they 
found  the  doorway,  the  while  they  could  hear  the 
sputtering  of  the  shortened  fuse,  and  during  which 
they  heard  Smoky  cry  out,  "  Come  on !  "  When 
they  did  come  into  the  street  it  was  to  see  the  two 
Pinkertons  not  twenty  paces  away.  Before  their 
haste  could  take  them  to  the  opposite  sidewalk  the 
pavement  jumped  under  their  feet,  and  the  building 
at  their  backs  roared  heavily.  The  guards,  guessing 
the  whole  trick,  began  shooting  at  the  two.  A  police 
man  appeared  from  around  the  corner  with  drawn 
pistol — and  that  night  Jake,  Bill,  and  Arkansas  slept 
in  a  cell. 

The  next  morning,  after  getting  on  the  car  that 
carried  him  to  his  work,  Tom  took  up  his  paper  with 
a  leisure  that  straightway  left  him,  for  his  eyes  were 
instantly  caught  by  the  big  headlines  sketching  the 
explosion  in  the  Avon.  He  raced  through  the  three 
columns.  He  could  see  Foley  behind  the  whole  out 
rage,  and  he  thrilled  with  satisfaction  as  he  foresaw 
the  beginning  of  Foley's  undoing  in  the  police  court. 


FOLEY  TASTES   REVENGE    217 

There  was  no  work  for  him  that  morning.  He 
leaped  off  the  car  and  took  another  that  brought 
him  near  the  court  where  the  three  men  were  to  have 
their  preliminary  hearing. 

It  was  half-past  eight  when  he  reached  the  court. 
As  he  entered  the  almost  empty  court-room  he  saw 
Foley  and  a  black-maned  man  of  lego-theatric  appear 
ance  standing  before  a  police  sergeant,  and  he  heard 
Foley  say:  "  This  is  their  lawyer;  we  want  to  see 
'em  straight  off."  Tom  preferred  to  avoid  meeting 
Foley,  so  he  turned  quickly  back  and  walked  about 
for  half  an  hour.  When  he  returned  the  small  court 
room  was  crowded,  the  clerks  were  in  place,  the  police 
men  and  their  prisoners  stood  in  a  long  queue  having 
its  head  at  the  judge's  desk  and  its  tail  without  the 
iron  railing  that  fenced  off  the  spectators. 

Tom  had  been  in  the  court-room  but  a  few  minutes 
when  an  officer  motioned  him  within  the  railing.  The 
court  attorney  stepped  to  his  side.  "  You  were 
pointed  out  to  me  as  the  president  of  the  Iron 
Workers'  Union,"  said  the  attorney. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  I  was  told  you  didn't  care  particularly  for 
the  prisoners  in  this  explosion  case." 

"Well?" 

"  Would  you  be  willing  to  testify  against  them — 
not  upon  the  explosion,  which  you  didn't  see,  but  upon 
their  character?  " 

Tom  looked  at  Jake,  Arkansas,  and  Bill,  standing 
at  the  head  of  the  queue  in  charge  of  the  two  Pink- 
ertons  and  a  couple  of  policemen,  and  struggled  a 
moment  with  his  thoughts.  Ordinarily  it  was  a  point 


218    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

of  honor  with  a  union  man  not  to  aid  the  law  against 
a  fellow  member;  but  this  was  not  an  ordinary  case. 
The  papers  had  thrown  the  whole  blame  for  the  out 
rage  upon  the  union.  The  union's  innocence  could 
be  proved  only  by  fastening  the  blame  upon  Foley 
and  the  three  prisoners. 

"  I  will,"  he  consented. 

There  was  a  tiresome  wait  for  the  judge.  About 
ten  o'clock  he  emerged  from  his  chambers  and  took 
his  place  upon  his  platform.  He  was  a  cold-looking 
man,  with  an  aristocratic  face,  deeply  marked  with 
lines  of  hard  justice,  and  with  a  time-tonsured  pate. 
His  enemies,  and  they  were  many,  declared  his  judg 
ments  ignored  the  law;  his  answer  was  that  he  ad 
ministered  the  law  according  to  common  sense,  and 
not  according  to  its  sometimes  stupid  letter. 

The  bailiff  opened  the  court,  and  the  case  of  Jake, 
Arkansas,  and  Bill  was  called.  The  two  Pinker- 
tons  recited  the  details  of  the  explosion  and  the  two 
policemen  added  details  of  the  arrest.  Then  Mr. 
Baxter,  looking  pale,  but  as  much  the  self-controlled 
gentleman  as  ever,  testified  to  the  damage  done  by 
the  dynamite.  The  Avon  still  stood,  but  its  steel 
frame  was  so  wrenched  at  the  base  that  it  was  liable 
to  fall  at  any  moment.  The  building  would  have 
to  be  reconstructed  entirely.  Though  much  of  the 
material  could  be  used  again,  the  loss,  at  a  conserva 
tive  estimate,  would  be  seventy-five  thousand  dollars. 

Tom  came  next  before  the  judge's  desk.  Exclama 
tions  of  surprise  ran  among  the  union  men  in  the  room 
when  it  was  seen  Tom  was  to  be  a  witness,  and  the 
bailiff  had  to  pound  with  his  gavel  and  shout  for 


FOLEY  TASTES   REVENGE    219 

order.  Tom  testified  that  the  three  were  known  in 
the  union  as  men  ready  for  any  villainy;  and  he  man 
aged  to  introduce  in  his  answers  to  the  questions 
enough  to  make  it  plain  that  the  union  was  in  no 
degree  responsible  for  the  outrage,  that  it  abhorred 
such  acts,  that  responsibility  rested  upon  the 
three — "And  someone  else,"  he  added  meaningly. 

"Who's  that?"  quickly  demanded  the  court 
attorney. 

"  Buck  Foley." 

"  I  object !  "  shouted  the  prisoners'  attorney. 
Foley,  who  sat  back  in  the  crowd  with  crossed  legs, 
did  not  alter  his  half-interested  expression  by  a 
wrinkle. 

"  Objection  over-ruled,"  said  the  judge. 

"  Will  you  please  tell  what  you  know  about  Mr. 
Foley's  connection  with  the  case,"  continued  the 
court  attorney. 

"I  object,  your  Honor!  Mr.  Foley  is  not  on 
trial." 

"  It's  the  duty  of  this  court  to  get  at  all  the  facts," 
returned  the  judge.  "  Does  the  witness  speak  from 
his  own  knowledge,  or  what  he  surmises?  " 

"  I'm  absolutely  certain  he's  at  the  bottom  of  this." 

"  But  is  your  evidence  first-hand  information?  " 

"  It  is  not,"  Tom  had  to  confess.  "  But  I  couldn't 
be  more  certain  if  I  had  seen  him " 

"  Guess-work  isn't  evidence,"  cut  in  the  judge. 

Tom,  however,  had  attached  Foley  to  the  case — he 
had  seen  the  reporters  start  at  his  words  as  at  a  fresh 
sensation — and  he  gave  a  look  of  satisfaction  at  Foley 
as  he  stepped  away  from  the  judge's  desk.  Foley 


220   THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

gave  back  a  half-covered  sneer,  as  if  to  say,  "  Just 
youse  wait!  " 

Arkansas  was  the  first  of  the  prisoners  to  be  called 
— the  reason  for  which  priority,  as  Tom  afterwards 
guessed,  being  his  anomalous  face  that  would  not  have 
ill-suited  a  vest  that  buttoned  to  the  chin  and  a  collar 
that  buttoned  at  the  back.  Arkansas,  replying  to 
the  questions  of  his  long-haired  attorney,  corroborated 
the  testimony  of  the  policemen  and  the  Pinkertons  in 
every  detail.  When  Arkansas  had  answered  the  last 
query  the  lawyer  allowed  several  seconds  to  pass,  his 
figure  drawn  up  impressively,  his  right  hand  in  the 
breast  of  his  frock  coat. 

The  judge  bent  over  his  docket  and  began  to  write. 
"  This  seems  a  perfectly  plain  case.  I  hold  the  three 
prisoners  for  the  grand  jury,  each  in  ten  thou 
sand » 

The  attorney's  right  hand  raised  itself  theatrically. 
"Hold!"  he  cried. 

The  judge  looked  up  with  a  start.  Tom's  eyes, 
wandering  to  Foley's  face,  met  there  a  malign  grin. 

"  The  case  is  not  ended,  your  Honor.  The  case  is 
just  begun."  The  attorney  brushed  back  his  mane 
with  a  stagy  movement  of  his  hand,  and  turned  upon 
Arkansas.  "  You  and  the  other  prisoners  did  this. 
You  do  not  deny  it.  But  now  tell  his  Honor  why  you 
did  it." 

Arkansas,  with  honesty  fairly  obtruding  from  his 
every  feature,  looked  nervously  at  Tom,  and  then 
said  hesitantly:  "  Because  we  had  to." 

"  And  why  did  you  have  to?  " 

Again  Arkansas  showed  hesitation. 


FOLEY    TASTES   REVENGE    221 

"  Speak  out,"  encouraged  the  attorney.  "  You're 
in  no  danger.  The  court  will  protect  you." 

"  We  was  ordered  to.  If  we  hadn't  done  it  we'd 
been  thrown  out  o'  the  union,  an'  been  done  up." 

"  Explain  to  the  court  what  you  mean  by  *  done 
up'." 

41  Slugged  an'  kicked— half  killed." 

"  In  other  words,  what  you  did  was  done  in  fear 
of  your  life.  Now  who  ordered  you  to  blow  up  the 
Avon,  and  threatened  to  have  you  *  done  up  '  if  you 
didn't?" 

"  Mr.  Keating,  the  president  o'  the  union." 

The  judge,  who  had  been  leaning  forward  with 
kindling  eyes,  breathed  a  prolonged  "  A-a-ah !  " 

For  a  moment  Tom  was  astounded.  Then  he 
sprang  to  Arkansas's  side.  "  You  infernal  liar!  "  he 
shouted,  his  eyes  blazing. 

The  judge's  hammer  thundered  down.  "  Silence !  " 
he  roared. 

"  But,  your  Honor,  he's  lying!  " 

"Five  dollars  for  contempt  of  court!  Another 
word  and  I'll  give  you  the  full  penalty." 

Two  officers  jerked  Tom  back,  and  surging  with 
indignant  wrath  he  had  to  listen  in  silence  to  the 
romance  that  had  been  spun  for  Arkansas's  lips  and 
which  he  was  now  respinning  for  the  court's  ears; 
and  he  quickly  became  aware  that  newspaper  artists 
had  set  their  pencils  busy  over  his  face.  Once, 
glancing  at  Jake,  he  was  treated  with  a  leer  of 
triumph. 

Arkansas  plausibly  related  what  had  passed  be 
tween  Tom  and  himself  and  his  two  companions;  and 


222    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

then  Bill  took  the  stand,  and  then  Jake.  Each  re« 
peated  the  story  Arkansas,  with  the  help  of  his  face,, 
had  made  so  convincing. 

"And  now,  your  Honor,"  the  prisoners'  attorney 
began  when  his  evidence  was  all  in,  u  I  think  I  have 
made  plain  my  clients'  part  in  this  most  nefarious 
outrage.  They  are  guilty — yes.  But  they  were  but 
the  all  too  weak  instruments  of  another's  will,  who 
galvanized  them  by  mortal  fear  to  do  his  dastardly 
bidding.  He,  he  alone " 

"  Save  your  eloquence,  councilor,"  the  judge  broke 
in.  '*  The  case  speaks  best  for  itself.  You  here." 
He  crooked  his  forefinger  at  Tom. 

Tom  was  pushed  by  policemen  up  before  the  judge. 
"  Now  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?  "  the  judge 
demanded. 

"  It's  one  string  of  infernal  lies !  "  Tom  exploded. 
And  he  launched  into  a  hot  denial,  strong  in  phrasing 
but  weak  in  comparison  with  the  inter-corroborative 
stones  of  the  three,  which  had  the  further  verisi 
militude  gained  by  tallying  in  every  detail  with  the 
officers'  account  of  the  explosion. 

"  What  you  say  is  merely  denial,  the  denial  we 
hear  from  every  criminal,"  his  Honor  began  when 
Tom  had  finished.  "  I  do  not  say  I  believe  every 
word  of  the  testimony  of  the  three  prisoners.  But 
it  is  more  credible  than  your  statements. 

"What  has  been  brought  out  here  to-day — the 
supreme  officer  of  a  union  compelling  members  to 
commit  an  act  of  violence  by  threat  of  economic  dis 
ablement  and  of  physical  injury,  perhaps  death — is 
in  perfect  accord  with  the  many  diabolical  practices 


FOLEY  TASTES   REVENGE    223 

that  have  recently  been  revealed  as  existing  among 
trade  unions.  It  is  such  things  as  this  that  force  all 
right-minded  men  to  regard  trade  unionism  as  the 
most  menacing  danger  which  our  nation  now  con 
fronts."  And  for  five  minutes  he  continued  in  his 
arraignment  of  trade  unions. 

"  In  the  present  circumstances,"  he  ended,  "  it  is 
my  duty  to  order  the  arrest  of  this  man  who  appears 
to  be  the  chief  conspirator — this  president  of  a  union 
who  has  had  the  supreme  hardihood  to  appear  as  a 
witness  against  his  own  tools,  doubtless  hoping 
thereby  to  gain  the  end  of  the  thief  who  cried  *  stop 
thief.'  I  hold  him  in  fifteen  thousand  dollars  bond  to 
await  the  action  of  the  grand  jury.  The  three  pris 
oners  are  held  in  five  thousand  dollars  bail  each." 

Jake,  Bill,  and  Arkansas  were  led  away  by  their 
captors,  and  Tom,  utterly  dazed  by  this  new  disaster 
that  had  overtaken  him  when  he  had  thought  there 
was  nothing  more  that  could  befall,  was  shoved  over 
to  the  warrant  clerk.  And  again  he  caught  Foley's 
eyes;  they  were  full  of  malicious  satisfaction. 

As  he  waited  before  the  warrant  clerk's  desk  he 
saw  Mr.  Baxter,  on  his  way  to  the  door,  brush  by 
Foley,  and  in  the  moment  of  passing  he  saw  Foley's 
lips  move.  He  did  not  hear  Foley's  words.  They 
were  two,  and  were:  "  First  round!  " 

A  few  minutes  later  Tom  was  led  down  a  stair 
way,  through  a  corridor  and  locked  in  a  cell. 


Chapter   XX 
TOM    HAS    A    CALLER 

HATE  in  the  afternoon,  as  Tom  lay  stretched 
in  glowering  melancholy  on  the  greasy, 
dirt-browned  board  that  did  service  as 
chair  and  bed  to  the  transitory  tenants  of 
the  cell,  steps  paused  in  the  corridor  without  and  a 
key  rattled  in  his  door.     He  rose  dully  out  of  his 
dejection.    A    scowling    officer    admitted    a    man, 
round  and  short  and  with  side  whiskers,  and  locked 
the  door  upon  his  back. 

'*  This  is  a  pretty  how-to-do !  "  growled  the  man, 
coming  forward. 

Tom  stared  at  his  visitor.  "  Why,  Mr.  Driscoll !  " 
he  cried. 

"That's  who  the  most  of  my  friends  say  I  am,'* 
the  contractor  admitted  gruffly. 

He  deposited  himself  upon  the  bench  that  had 
seated  and  bedded  so  much  unwashed  misfortune, 
and,  his  back  against  the  cement  wall,  turned  his 
sour  face  about  the  bare  room.  "  This  is  what  I  call 
a  pretty  poor  sort  of  hospitality  to  offer  a  visitor," 
he  commented,  in  his  surly  voice.  "  Not  even  a  chair 
to  sit  on." 

"There  is  also  the  floor;  you  may  take  your 
choice,"  Tom  returned,  nettled  by  the  other's  manner. 
He  himself  took  the  bench. 

224 


TOM  HAS  A  CALLER          225 

Mr.  Driscoll  stared  at  him  with  blinking  eyes, 
and  he  stared  back  defiantly.  In  Tom's  present 
mood  of  wrath  and  depression  his  temper  was  tinder 
waiting  another  man's  spark. 

"Huh!"  Mr.  Driscoll  ran  his  pudgy  forefinger 
easefully  about  between  his  collar  and  his  neck,  and 
removing  his  spectacles  mopped  his  purple  face. 
"  What's  this  funny  business  you've  been  up  to 
now?  "  he  asked. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  Tom  demanded,  his  irrita 
tion  mounting. 

"  You  ought  to  read  the  papers  and  keep  posted 
on  what  you  do.  I  just  saw  a  Star.  There's  half  a 
page  of  your  face,  and  about  a  pint  of  red  ink." 

Tom  groaned,  and  his  jaws  clamped  ragefully. 

"  What  I  read  gave  me  the  impression  you'd  been 
having  a  sort  of  private  Fourth  of  July  celebration," 
Mr.  Driscoll  pursued. 

Tom  turned  on  the  contractor  half  savagely.  "  See 
here!  I  don't  know  what  you  came  here  for,  but  if 
it  was  for  this  kind  of  talk — well,  you  can  guess  how 
welcome  you  are !  " 

Mr.  Driscoll  emitted  a  little  chuckling  sound,  or 
Tom  thought  for  an  instant  he  did.  But  a  glance  at 
that  sour  face,  with  its  straight  pouting  mouth,  cor 
rected  Tom's  ears. 

"  Now,  what  was  your  fool  idea  in  blowing  up 
the  Avon?" 

Tom  uprose  wrath  fully.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you  believe  the  lies  those  blackguards  told  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  I  only  know  what  I  read  in  the  papers." 


226    THE  WALKING  DELEGATE 

"  If  you  swallow  everything  you  see  in  the  papers, 
you  must  have  an  awful  maw !  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  have  got  some  sort  of  a  story 
you  put  up." 

Tom  glared  at  his  pudgy  visitor  w'ho  questioned 
with  such  an  exasperating  presumption.  "  Did  I  ask 
you  here?  "  he  demanded. 

The  contractor's  eyes  snapped,  and  Tom  expected 
hot  words.  But  none  came.  "  Don't  get  hot  under 
the  collar,"  Mr.  Driscoll  advised,  running  his  com 
forting  finger  under  his  own.  "  Come,  what's  your 
side  of  the  story?  " 

Tom  was  of  half  a  mind  to  give  a  curt  refusal.  But 
his  wrong  was  too  great,  too  burning,  for  him  to  keep 
silent  upon  it.  He  would  have  talked  of  it  to  any 
one — to  his  very  walls.  He  took  a  turn  in  the  cell, 
then  paused  before  his  old  employer  and  hotly 
explained  his  innocence  and  Foley's  guilt. 

While  Tom  spoke  Mr.  Driscoll's  head  nodded 
excitedly. 

ujust  what  I  said!"  he  cried  when  Tom  ended, 
and  brought  his  fist  down  on  his  knee.  "  Well,  we'll 
show  him !  " 

"  Show  him  what?  "  Tom  asked. 

Mr.  Driscoll  stopped  his  fist  midway  in  another 
excited  descent.  He  stood  up,  for  he  saw  the  of 
ficer's  scowling  face  at  the  grated  front  of  the  cell. 
"  Oh,  a  lot  of  things  before  he  dies.  As  for  you, 
keep  your  courage  up.  What  else's  it  for?  " 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Tom  took  it  with  bewil 
dered  perfunctoriness. 

Mr.  Driscoll  passed  through  the  door,  held  open 


TOM   HAS  A   CALLER  227 

by  the  officer.  Outside  he  turned  about  and 
growled  through  the  bars:  "  Now  don't  be  blowing 
up  any  more  buildings!  " 

Tom,  stung  anew,  would  have  retorted  in  kind, 
but  Mr.  Driscoll's  footsteps  had  died  away  down  the 
corridor  before  adequate  words  came  to  him. 

It  was  about  an  hour  later  that  the  officer  ap 
peared  before  his  cell  again  and  unlocked  his  door. 
"  Come  on,"  he  said  shortly. 

Tom,  supposing  he  was  at  length  to  be  removed 
to  the  county  jail,  put  on  his  hat  and  stepped  outside 
the  cell.  He  had  expected  to  find  policemen  in  the 
corridor,  and  to  be  handcuffed.  But  the  officer  was 
alone. 

Two  cells  away  he  saw  Jake's  malignant  face  peer 
ing  at  him  through  the  bars.  "  I  guess  this  puts  us 
about  even!  "  Jake  called  out. 

Tom  shook  his  fist.  "  Wait  till  the  trial !  We'll 
see !  "  he  cried  vengefully. 

"  Shut  up,  youse !  "  shouted  the  surly  watchman. 
He  pushed  Tom  through  the  corridor  and  up  a  stair 
way.  At  its  head  Tom  was  guided  through  a  door, 
and  found  himself  in  the  general  hall  of  the  police 
station. 

"  Here  youse  are,"  said  the  officer,  starting  for 
the  sergeant's  desk.  "  Come  on  and  sign  the  bail 
bond." 

Tom  caught  his  arm.  "What's  this  mean?"  he 
cried. 

"  Don't  youse  know?  Youse  're  bailed  out." 

"Bailed  out!     Who  by?" 

"  Didn't  he  tell  youse?  "    Surprise  showed  in  the 


228    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

crabbed  face  of  the  officer.  "Why,  before  he  done 
anything  he  went  down  to  talk  it  over  with  youse." 

"Not  Mr.  Driscoll?" 

"  I  don't  know  his  name.  That  red-faced  old 
geezer  in  the  glasses.  Huh  ! — his  coin  comes  easier'n 


mine." 


Tom  put  his  name  to  the  bond,  already  signed  by 
Mr.  Driscoll,  and  stumbled  out  into  the  street,  half 
blinded  by  the  rush  of  sunlight  into  his  cell-darkened 
eyes,  and  struck  through  with  bewilderment  at  his 
unexpected  liberation.  He  threw  off  a  number  of 
quizzing  reporters,  who  had  got  quick  news  of  his 
release,  and  walked  several  aimless  blocks  before  he 
came  back  to  his  senses.  Then  he  set  out  for  Mr. 
Driscoll's  office,  almost  choking  with  emotion  at  the 
prospect  of  meeting  Ruth  again.  But  he  reached  it 
too  late  to  spend  his  thanks  or  to  test  his  self-control. 
It  was  past  six  and  the  office  was  locked. 

He  started  home,  and  during  the  car  ride  posted 
himself  upon  his  recent  doings  by  reading  the  accounts 
of  the  trial  and  his  part  in  the  Avon  outrage.  On 
reaching  the  block  in  which  he  lived  he  hesitated  long 
before  he  found  the  courage  to  go  up  to  the  ordeal 
of  telling  Maggie  his  last  misfortune.  When  he 
entered  his  flat  it  was  to  find  it  empty.  He  sat  down 
at  the  window,  with  its  backyard  view  of  clothes-lines 
and  of  fire-escape  landings  that  were  each  an  open-air 
pantry,  and  rehearsed  the  sentences  with  which  he 
should  break  the  news  to  her,  his  suspense  mounting 
as  the  minutes  passed.  At  length  her  key  sounded  in 
the  lock,  he  heard  her  footsteps,  then  saw  her  dim 
shape  come  into  the  sitting-room. 


TOM   HAS  A   CALLER  229 

In  the  same  instant  she  saw  him  at  the  window. 
"  What — Tom !  "  she  cried,  with  the  tremulous  relief 
of  one  who  ends  a  great  suspense. 

He  had  been  nerving  himself  to  face  another  mood 
than  this.  He  was  taken  aback  by  the  unexpected 
note  in  her  voice — a  sympathetic  note  he  had  not 
heard  for  such  a  time  it  seemed  he  had  never  heard  it 
at  all. 

He  rose,  embarrassed.     "  Yes,"  he  said. 

She  had  come  quickly  to  his  side,  and  now  caught 
his  arm.  "  You  are  here,  Tom?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  answered,  still  dazed  and  at  a 
loss.  "  Where  have  you  been,  Maggie?  " 

Had  the  invading  twilight  not  half  blindfolded 
him,  Tom  could  have  seen  the  rapid  change  that  took 
place  in  Maggie's  face — the  relief  at  finding  him  safe 
yielding  to  the  stronger  emotion  beneath  it.  When 
she  answered  her  voice  was  as  of  old.  "  Been? 
Where  haven't  I  been?  To  the  jail  the  last  place." 

"  To  the  jail?"  He  was  again  surprised.  'Then 
.  .  .  you  know  all?  " 

"  Know  all?"  She  laughed  harshly,  a  tremolo 
beneath  the  harshness.  "  How  could  I  help  knowing 
all?  The  newsboys  yelling  down  in  the  street!  The 
neighbors  coming  in  with  their  sympathy!  "  She  did 
not  tell  him  how  to  these  visitors  she  had  hotly 
defended  his  innocence. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  at  the  police  station,"  he 
said  weakly,  still  at  a  loss. 

"  Of  course  not.  When  I  got  there  they  told  me 
you'd  been  let  out."  Her  breath  was  coming  rapidly, 
deeply.  "  What  a  time  I  had!  I  didn't  know  how 


23o    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

to  get  to  the  jail!  Dragging  myself  all  over  town! 
Those  awful  papers  everywhere!  Everybody  look 
ing  at  me  and  guessing  who  I  was !  Oh,  the  disgrace ! 
The  disgrace !  " 

"  But,  Maggie,  I  didn't  do  this !  " 

"The  world  don't  know  that!  "  The  rage  and 
despair  that  had  been  held  in  check  all  afternoon  by 
her  concern  for  L!m  now  completely  "mastered  her. 
'We're  disgraced!  You've  been  in  jail!  You're 
now  only  out  on  bail !  Fifteen  thousand  dollars  bail  I 
Why  that  boss,  Mr.  Driscoll,  went  on  it,  heaven  only 
knows !  You're  going  to  be  tried.  Even  if  you  get 
off  we'll  never  hear  the  last  of  it.  Hadn't  we  had 
trouble  enough  ?  Now  it's  disgrace !  And  why's  this 
come  on  us?  You  tell  me  that!  " 

She  was  shaking  all  over,  and  for  her  to  speak  was 
a  struggle  with  her  sobs.  She  supported  herself  with 
arms  on  the  table,  and  looked  at  him  fiercely,  wildly, 
through  the  dim  light. 

Tom  took  her  arm.  "  Sit  down,  Maggie,"  he  said, 
and  tried  to  push  her  into  a  chair. 

She  repulsed  him.  "  Answer  me.  Why  has  this 
trouble  come  on  us?  " 

He  was  silent. 

u  Oh,  you  know !  Because  you  wouldn't  take  a  little 
advice  from  your  wife !  Other  men  got  along  with 
Foley  and  held  their  jobs.  But  you  wanted  to  be 
different;  you  wanted  to  fight  Foley.  Well,  you've 
had  your  way;  you've  fought  him.  And  what  of  it? 
We're  ruined !  Disgraced !  You're  working  for  less 
than  half  what  you  used  to  get.  We're  ashamed  to 
show  our  faces  in  the  street.  All  because  you 


TOM   HAS  A   CALLER  231 

wouldn't  pay  any  attention  to  me.  And  me — how 
I've  got  to  suffer  for  it !  Oh,  my  God !  My  God !  " 

Tom  recognized  the  justice,  from  her  point  of  view, 
in  her  wild  phrases  and  did  not  try  to  dispute  her.  He 
again  tried  to  push  her  into  a  chair. 

She  threw  off  his  hand,  and  went  hysterically  on, 
now  beating  her  knuckles  upon  the  table.  "  Leave 
me  alone!  I've  made  up  my  mind  about  one  thing. 
You  won't  listen  to  reason.  I've  given  you  good 
advice.  I've  been  right  every  time.  You've  paid  no 
attention  to  me  and  we're  ruined!  Well,  I've  made 
up  my  mind.  If  you  do  this  sort  of  thing  again, 
I'll  lock  you  out  of  the  house !  D'you  hear?  I'll  lock 
you  out  of  the  house !  " 

She  fell  of  her  own  accord  into  a  chair,  and  with 
her  head  in  her  hands  abandoned  herself  to  sobbing. 
Tom  looked  at  her  silently.  In  a  narrow  way,  she 
was  right.  In  a  broad  way,  he  knew  he  was  right. 
But  he  could  not  make  her  understand,  so  there  was 
nothing  he  could  say.  Presently  he  noticed  that  her 
hair  had  loosened  and  her  hat  had  fallen  over  one 
cheek.  With  unaccustomed  hands  he  took  out  the 
pins  and  laid  the  hat  upon  the  table.  She  gave  no 
sign  that  she  had  noted  the  act  .  .  .  Her  sobs 
became  fewer  and  less  violent. 

Tom  quietly  lit  the  gas.  ;<  Where's  Ferdinand?  " 
he  asked,  in  his  ordinary  voice. 

"  I  left  him  with  Mrs.  Jones,"  she  answered 
through  her  hands. 

When  Tom  came  back  with  the  boy  she  was  in  the 
kitchen,  a  big  apron  over  her  street  dress,  beginning 
the  dinner.  Tom  looked  in  upon  her,  then  obeying 


232    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

an  impulse  long  unstirred  he  began  to  set  the  table. 
She  glanced  furtively  at  this  unusual  service,  but  said 
nothing.  She  sat  through  the  meal  with  hard  face, 
but  did  not  again  refer  to  the  day's  happenings;  and, 
since  the  day  was  Wednesday,  as  soon  as  he  had 
eaten  Tom  hurried  away  to  Potomac  Hall. 

Tom  was  surrounded  by  friends  the  minute  he 
entered  the  hall.  The  ten  o'clock  edition  of  the 
evening  papers,  out  before  seven,  had  acquainted 
them  with  his  release.  The  accounts  in  this  edition 
played  up  the  anomaly  of  this  labor  ruffian,  shown  by 
his  act  to  be  the  arch-enemy  of  the  employers,  being 
bailed  out  by  one  of  the  very  contractors  with  whom 
the  union  was  at  war.  Two  of  the  papers  printed 
interviews  with  Mr.  Driscoll  upon  the  question,  why 
had  he  done  it?  One  interview  was,  "  I  don't 
know  ";  the  other,  "  None  of  your  business." 

Tom's  friends  had  the  curiosity  of  the  papers,  and 
put  to  him  the  question  the  news  sheets  had  put  to  Mr. 
Driscoll.  "  If  Mr.  Driscoll  don't  know,  how  can  I  ?  " 
was  all  the  answer  he  could  give  them.  Their  curi 
osity,  however,  was  weak  measured  by  their  indig 
nation  over  the  turn  events  had  taken  in  the  court 
room.  They  would  stand  by  him  at  his  trial,  they 
declared,  and  show  what  his  relations  had  been  with 
Jake,  Bill  and  Arkansas. 

Before  the  meeting  was  opened  there  was  talk 
among  the  Foleyites  against  Tom  being  allowed  to 
preside,  but  he  ended  their  muttering  by  marching  to 
his  table  and  pounding  the  union  to  order.  He 
immediately  took  the  floor  and  in  a  speech  filled  with 
charges  against  Foley  gave  to  the  union  his  side  of 


TOM   HAS  A   CALLER          233 

the  facts  that  had  already  been  presented  them  from 
a  different  viewpoint  in  the  papers.  When  he  ended 
Foley's  followers  looked  to  their  chief  to  make  reply, 
but  Foley  kept  his  seat.  Connelly,  seeing  it  his  duty 
to  defend  his  leader,  was  rising  to  his  feet  when  a 
glance  from  Foley  made  him  sink  back  into  his  chair. 
The  talk  from  Tom's  side  went  hotly  on  for  a  time, 
but,  meeting  with  no  resistance,  and  having  no  imme 
diate  purpose,  it  dwindled  away. 

The  union  then  turned  to  matters  pertaining  to  the 
management  of  the  strike.  As  the  discussion  went  on 
followers  of  Foley  slipped  quietly  about  the  hall 
whispering  in  the  ears  of  their  brethren.  The  talk 
became  tedious.  Tom's  friends,  wearied  and  unin 
terested,  sat  in  silence.  Foleyites  spoke  at  great  length 
upon  unimportant  details.  Foley  himself  made  a 
long  speech,  the  like  of  which  had  never  before  come 
from  him,  it  was  that  dull  and  purposeless.  At  half- 
past  ten,  by  \vhich  time  the  men  usually  were  restless 
to  be  out  of  the  hall  and  bound  toward  their  beds, 
adjournment  seemed  as  far  off  as  at  eight.  Sleepy 
and  bored  by  the  stupid  discussion,  members  began  to 
go  out,  and  most  of  those  that  left  were  followers 
of  Tom.  The  pointless  talk  went  on;  men  kept  slip 
ping  out.  At  twelve  o'clock  not  above  two  hundred 
were  in  the  hall,  and  of  these  not  two  dozen  were 
Tom's  friends. 

Tom  saw  Foley  cast  his  eyes  over  the  thinned 
crowd,  and  then  give  a  short  nod  at  Connelly.  The 
secretary  stood  up  and  claimed  Tom's  recognition. 

"  Mr.  President,  I  move  we  suspend  the  consti 
tution." 


234    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

The  motion  was  instantly  seconded.  Tom  promptly 
ruled  it  out  of  order,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  uncon 
stitutional  to  suspend  the  constitution.  But  he  was 
over-ruled,  only  a  score  siding  with  him.  The  motion 
was  put  and  was  carried  by  the  same  big  majority  that 
had  voted  against  his  decision. 

Connelly  rose  a  second  time.  "  I  make  a  motion 
that  we  remove  the  president  from  office  on  the  charge 
that  he  is  the  instigator  of  an  outrage  that  has  black 
ened  the  fair  name  of  our  union  before  all  the  world." 

A  hundred  voices  cried  a  second  to  the  motion. 
Tom  rose  and  looked  with  impotent  wrath  into  the 
faces  of  the  crowd  from  which  Foley's  cunning  had 
removed  his  followers.  Then  he  tossed  the  gavel 
upon  the  table. 

"  I  refuse  to  put  the  motion!  "  he  shouted;  and 
picking  up  his  hat  he  strode  down  the  middle  aisle. 
Half-way  to  the  door  he  heard  Connelly,  in  the 
absence  of  the  vice-president,  put  the  motion;  and 
turning  as  he  passed  out  he  glimpsed  the  whole  crowd 
on  its  feet. 

The  next  morning  Tom  saw  by  his  newspaper  that 
Connelly  was  the  union's  new  president;  also  that  he 
had  been  dropped  from  the  strike  committee,  Hogan 
now  being  in  his  place.  The  reports  in  the  papers 
intimated  that  the  union  had  partially  exonerated 
itself  by  its  prompt  discardure  of  the  principal  in  the 
Avon  explosion.  The  editorial  pages  expressed  sur 
prise  that  the  notorious  Foley  bore  no  relation  to  an 
outrage  that  seemed  a  legitimate  offspring  of  his 
character. 

Tom  had  not  been  at  work  more  than  an  hour  when 


TOM  HAS  A  CALLER          235 

a  boy  brought  him  word  that  the  superintendent  of 
the  shipping  department  desired  to  see  him.  He 
hurried  to  his  superior's  office. 

4  You  were  not  at  work  yesterday?  "  the  superin 
tendent  said. 

"  No,"  Tom  admitted. 

The  head  of  the  department  drew  a  morning  paper 
from  a  pigeon-hole  and  pointed  at  a  face  on  its  first 
page.  '  Your  likeness,  I  believe." 

"  It  was  intended  for  me." 

He  touched  a  button,  and  a  clerk  appeared. 
"  Phillips,  make  out  Keating's  time  check."  He 
turned  sharply  back  upon  Tom.  "  That's  all.  We've 
got  no  use  for  anarchists  in  our  business." 


Chapter  XXI 
WHAT    MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN 

^T-w ^HEN  Ruth  carried  a  handful  of  letters  she 
m  S  •  ^ad  ^ust  fin*shed  into  Mr.  Driscoll's  office 
W  I  W  — this  while  he  sat  talking  to  Tom  in  the 
V^,X  latter's  cell — she  saw  staring  luridly  at 
her  from  the  desk  the  newspaper  that  had  sent  her 
employer  to  the  jail  on  his  errand  of  gruff  mercy. 
There  was  a  great  drawing  of  Tom's  face,  brutalized, 
yet  easily  recognizable,  and  over  it  the  heavy  crimson 
heading  : 

TOO°FLS  UNION  PRESIDENT 

DEFA°TRHTHRBEYATs     BLEW  UP   THE  AVON 

The  stare  of  that  brutal  face  and  of  those  red 
words  sent  her  sinking  into  Mr.  Driscoll's  chair,  and 
the  letters  fluttered  to  the  floor.  After  a  moment  she 
reached  in  eager  revulsion  for  the  paper,  and  her  eyes 
reeled  through  the  high-colored  account  of  the  court 
scene.  What  was  printed  there  was  the  newest  of 
news  to  her;  she  had  lunched  early,  and  the  paper  she 
had  bought  to  learn  the  latest  developments  in  the 
Avon  case  had  carried  her  only  to  the  beginning  of 
the  trial.  As  she  read,  a  dizzy  sickness  ran  through 
all  her  body.  The  case  against  Tom,  as  the  papers 

236 


WHAT   MIGHT  HAVE   BEEN     237 

made  it  out,  was  certainly  strong;  and  the  fact  that  he, 
the  instigator  of  the  outrage,  had  attempted  to  escape 
blame  by  seeking  to  help  convict  his  own  tools  was 
emphasized  as  the  most  blackening  phase  of  the  whole 
black  affair.  But  strong  as  the  case  appeared,  within 
her  sickened,  bewildered  self  there  was  something  that 
protested  the  story  could  not  possibly  be  true. 

During  the  weeks  that  had  passed  since  she  had 
last  seen  Tom  she  had  wondered  much  that  he  had  not 
come  again,  guessing  every  reason  but  the  right  one. 
When  ten  days  had  passed  without  a  visit  from  him 
she  had  concluded  that  he  must  be  too  busy  in  the 
management  of  the  strike  to  spare  an  evening;  she 
did  not  know  how  completely  Tom  had  been  crowded 
off  the  stage  by  Foley.  When  more  days  had  passed, 
and  still  no  call  from  him,  her  subtle  woman's  nature 
had  supplied  another  reason,  and  one  that  was  a  suf 
ficient  explanation  to  her  even  to  the  present.  She 
knew  what  Tom's  feelings  were  toward  her;  a  woman 
needs  precious  little  insight  to  discover  when  a  man 
loves  her.  For  all  her  instinctive  democracy,  she  was 
perfectly  conscious  of  the  social  difference  between 
herself  and  him,  and  with  not  unnatural  egotism  she 
endowed  Tom  with  the  same  consciousness.  He  loved 
her,  but  felt  their  social  inequality,  and  felt  it  with 
such  keenness  that  he  deemed  it  hopeless  to  try  to  win 
her,  and  so  had  decided  to  see  her  no  more. 

Such  was  her  explanation  of  his  absence.  She  pitied 
him  with  a  warm  romantic  pity  for  his  renunciation. 
Held  away  by  such  a  reason,  she  knew  that  if  ever  he 
came  it  must  be  at  her  bidding.  At  times  she  had 
been  impelled  to  send  for  him  to  come.  To  her  this 


238    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

was  not  an  impulse  of  prohibitive  unmaidenliness;  she 
could  bend  to  a  man  who  thought  himself  beneath  her 
as  she  never  could  to  a  man  on  her  own  level.  But 
she  had  not  sent.  To  do  so  without  being  prepared 
to  give  him  what  he  desired  would  be  to  do  him  a 
great  wrong,  and  to  give  him  this  she  was  neither 
able  nor  ready.  She  admired  all  that  was  good  in 
him;  but  she  could  not  blind  her  eyes  to  his  short 
comings,  and  to  go  into  his  world,  with  its  easily  imag 
ined  coarseness,  with  its  ignorance  of  books  and  music 
and  painting,  and  all  the  little  refinements  that  were 
dear  to  her,  she  could  not.  And  yet  her  heart  had 
ached  that  he  had  not  come. 

But  now  as  she  read  the  story  of  his  disgrace,  and 
as  the  reflux  of  wits  and  strength  began,  all  her  heart 
was  one  protest  of  his  innocence,  and  she  forgot  all 
the  little  differences  that  had  before  halted  her  desire 
to  see  him;  and  this  desire,  freed  of  its  checks,  sud 
denly  expanded  till  it  filled  the  uttermost  recesses  of 
her  soul. 

Her  first  impulse,  when  she  had  reached  the 
story's  end,  was  to  go  straight  to  him,  and  she  went 
so  far  as  to  put  on  her  hat.  But  reason  stopped 
her  at  the  door.  She  could  do  him  no  good,  and  her 
call  would  be  but  an  embarrassment  to  them  both.  She 
removed  her  hat,  and  sat  down  to  surging  thoughts. 

She  was  sitting  at  her  desk,  white  and  weak,  read 
ing  anew  the  lurid  story  in  the  paper,  when  Mr.  Dris- 
coll  passed  through  her  room  into  his  office  with  hat 
drawn  over  his  eyes.  She  looked  through  his  open 
door  for  several  minutes — and  then,  obeying  the 
desire  for  the  relief  of  speech,  she  went  in. 


WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE   BEEN     239 

"  Did  you  see  this  article  about  Mr.  Keating?" 
she  asked,  trying  to  keep  her  personal  interest  in  Tom 
from  showing  in  her  voice. 

Mr.  Driscoll's  hat  brim  was  still  over  his  eyes. 
He  did  not  look  up.  "  Yes,"  he  said  gruffly. 

"  You  remember  him,  don't  you? — one  of  the  fore 
men?" 

The  hat  brim  moved  affirmatively. 

She  had  to  summon  all  her  strength  to  put  her  next 
question  with  calmness.  (  What  will  be  done  with 
him?" 

"  I  don't  know.    Blowing  up  buildings  isn't  a  very 


innocent  amusement." 


"But  he  didn't  do  it  I" 

"  He  didn't?    Hum!" 

Ruth  burned  to  make  a  hot  defense.  But  instead 
she  asked:  "  Do  you  think  he's  the  sort  of  a  man  to 
do  a  thing  of  that  sort?  He  says  he  didn't." 

"  What  d'you  suppose  he'd  say?  " 

She  checked  her  rising  wrath.  "  But  what  do  you 
think  will  be  done  with  him?  " 

"  Hung,"  growled  Mr.  Driscoll. 

She  glared  at  him,  but  his  hat  brim  shielded  off 
her  resentment;  and  without  another  word  she  swept 
indignantly  out  of  the  room. 

Ruth  went  home  in  that  weakening  anxiety  which 
is  most  felt  by  the  helpless.  On  the  way  she  bought 
an  evening  paper,  but  there  was  nothing  new  in  it. 
After  a  dinner  hardly  touched  she  went  into  the 
street  and  got  a  ten  o'clock  edition.  It  had  the  story 
of  Tom's  release  on  bail. 

"  Why,  the  dear  old  bear !  "  she  gasped,  as  she  dis- 


240    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

covered  that  Mr.  Driscoll  had  gone  Tom's  bond.  She 
hurried  to  her  room  and  in  utter  abandonment  to  her 
emotion  wrote  Tom  a  note  asking  him  to  call  the  fol 
lowing  evening. 

The  next  morning  Tom,  discharged  but  half  an 
hour  before,  walked  into  Ruth's  office.  He  had  stood 
several  minutes  in  front  of  the  building  before  he  had 
gained  sufficient  control  to  carry  him  through  the 
certain  meeting  with  her.  She  went  red  at  sight  of 
him,  and  rose  in  a  throbbing  confusion,  but  subdued 
herself  to  greet  him  with  a  friendly  cordiality. 

"  It's  been  a  long  time  since  I've  seen  you,"  she 
said,  giving  him  her  hand.  It  was  barely  touched, 
then  dropped. 

"  Yes.  I've  been — very — busy,"  Tom  mumbled, 
his  big  chest  heaving.  It  seemed  that  his  mind,  his 
will,  were  slipping  away  from  him.  He  seized  his 
only  safety.  "  Is  Mr.  Driscoll  in?  " 

"  Yes."  Suddenly  chilled,  she  went  into  Mr.  Dris- 
coll's  room.  "  He  says  he's  too  busy  to  see  you,"  she 
said  on  her  return;  and  then  a  little  of  her  greeting 
smile  came  back:  "But  I  think  you'd  better  go  in, 
anyhow." 

As  Tom  entered  Mr.  Driscoll  looked  up  with  some 
thing  that  was  meant  to  be  a  scowl.  He  had  had  one 
uncomfortable  scene  already  that  morning.  "  Didn't 
I  say  I  was  busy?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  I  was  told  you  were.  But  you  didn't  think  I'd 
go  away  without  thanking  you?  " 

"  It's  a  pity  a  man  can't  make  a  fool  of  himself 
without  being  slobbered  over.  Well,  if  you've  got  to, 
out  with  it!  But  cut  it  short." 


WHAT   MIGHT  HAVE   BEEN     241 

Tom  expressed  his  thanks  warmly,  and  obediently 
made  them  brief.  "  But  I  don't  know  what  you  did 
it  for?  "  he  ended. 

"  About  fifty  reporters  have  been  asking  that  same 
thing." 

The  telephone  in  Ruth's  office  began  to  ring.  He 
waited  expectantly. 

"  Mr.  Bobbs  wants  to  speak  to  you,"  said  Ruth, 
appearing  at  the  door. 

u  Tell  him  I'm  out — or  dead,"  he  ordered,  and 
went  on  to  Tom :  u  And  he's  about  the  seventeenth 
contractor  that's  asked  the  same  question,  and  tried 
to  walk  on  my  face.  Maybe  because  I  don't  love 
Foley.  I  don't  know  myself.  A  man  goes  out  of  his 
head  now  and  then,  I  suppose."  His  eyes  snapped 
crossly. 

44  If  you're  sorry  this  morning,  withdraw  the  bail 
and  I'll " 

"  Don't  you  try  to  be  a  fool,  too!  All  I  ask  of 
you  is,  don't  skip  town,  and  don't  blow  up  any  more 
buildings." 

Tom  gave  his  word,  smiling  into  the  cross  face; 

and  was  withdrawing,  when  Mr.  Driscoll  stood  up. 

'  When  this  strike  you  started  is  over  come  around 

to  see  me."     He  held  out  his  hand;  his  grasp  was 

warm  and  tight.     "  Good-by." 

Tom,  having  none  of  that  control  and  power  of 
simulation  which  are  given  by  social  training,  knew  of 
but  one  way  to  pass  safely  by  the  danger  beyond  Mr. 
Driscoll's  door.  He  hurried  across  Ruth's  office 
straight  for  the  door  opening  into  the  hallway.  He 
had  his  hand  on  the  knob,  when  he  felt  how  brutal 


242    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

was  his  discourtesy.  He  turned  his  head.  Ruth  sat 
before  the  typewriter,  her  white  face  on  him. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  answer,  and  he  went  dazedly  out. 

Ruth  sat  in  frozen  stillness  for  long  after  he  had 
gone.  This  new  bearing  of  Tom  toward  her  fitted 
her  explanation  for  his  long  absence — and  did  not  fit 
it.  If  he  had  renounced  her,  though  loving  her,  he 
probably  would  have  borne  himself  in  the  abrupt  way 
he  had  just  done.  And  he  might  have  acted  in  just 
this  same  way  had  he  come  to  be  indifferent  to  her. 
This  last  was  the  chilling  thought.  If  he  had  received 
her  letter  then  his  abrupt  manner  could  mean  only 
that  this  last  thought  struck  the  truth.  When  she  had 
written  him  she  had  been  certain  of  his  feeling  for  her; 
that  certainty  now  changed  to  uncertainty,  she  would 
have  given  half  her  life  to  have  called  the  letter  back 
with  unbroken  seal. 

She  told  herself  that  he  would  not  come, — told 
herself  this  as  she  automatically  did  her  work,  as  she 
rode  home  in  the  car,  as  she  made  weak  pretense  of 
eating  dinner.  And  yet,  after  dinner,  she  put  on  the 
white  dress  that  his  eyes  had  told  her  he  liked  so  well. 
And  later,  when  Mr.  Berman's  card  was  brought  her, 
she  sent  down  word  that  she  was  ill. 

Presently  ...  he  came.  He  did  not  speak 
when  she  opened  the  door  to  him,  nor  did  she.  There 
was  an  unmastering  fever  burning  in  his  throat  and 
through  all  his  body;  and  all  her  inner  self  was  the 
prisoner  of  a  climacteric  paralysis.  They  held  hands 
for  a  time,  laxly,  till  one  loosed,  and  then  both 
swung  limply  back  to  their  places. 


WHAT   MIGHT  HAVE   BEEN     243 

"  I  just  got  your  letter  to-night — when  I  got  home," 
he  said,  driving  out  the  words.  But  he  said  nothing 
of  his  struggle :  how  he  had  fought  back  his  longing 
and  determined  not  to  come;  and  how,  the  victory 
won,  he  had  madly  thrown  wisdom  aside  and  rushed 
to  her. 

They  found  seats,  somehow,  she  in  a  chair,  he  on 
the  green  couch,  and  sat  in  a  silence  their  heart-beats 
seemed  to  make  sonant.  She  was  the  first  to  recover 
somewhat,  and  being  society  bred  and  so  knowing  the 
necessity  of  speech,  she  questioned  him  about  his 
arrest. 

He  started  out  on  the  story  haltingly.  But  little 
by  little  his  fever  lost  its  invalidating  control,  and 
little  by  little  the  madness  in  his  blood,  the  mad 
ness  that  had  forced  him  hither,  possessed  his  brain 
and  tongue,  and  the  words  came  rapidly,  with  spirit. 
Finishing  the  story  cf  his  yesterday  he  harked  back 
to  the  time  he  had  last  seen  her,  and  told  her  what 
had  happened  in  the  second  part  of  that  evening  in 
the  hall  over  the  Third  Avenue  saloon ;  told  her  how 
Foley  had  stolen  the  strike;  how  he  had  declined  to 
his  present  insignificance.  And  as  he  talked  he  eagerly 
drank  in  her  sympathy,  and  loosed  himself  more  and 
more  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  mad  pleasure  of  being 
with  her.  To  her  his  words  were  not  the  account  of 
the  more  or  less  sordid  experiences  of  a  working- 
man;  they  were  the  story  of  the  reverses  of  the  hero 
who,  undaunted,  has  given  battle  to  one  whom  all 
others  have  dared  not,  or  cared  not,  fight. 

11  What  will  you  do  now?  "  she  asked  when  he  had 
ended. 


244    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  I  don't  know.  Foley  says  he  has  me  down  and 
out — if  you  know  what  that  means." 

She  nodded. 

"  I  guess  he's  about  right.  Not  many  people  want 
to  hire  men  who  blow  up  buildings.  I  had  thought 
I'd  work  at  whatever  I  could  till  October — our  next 
election's  then — and  run  against  Foley  again.  But  if 
he  wins  the  strike  he  may  be  too  strong  to  beat." 

"  But  do  you  think  he'll  win  the  strike?  " 

"  He'll  be  certain  to  win,  though  this  explosion  will 
injure  us  a  lot.  He's  in  for  the  strike  for  all  he's 
worth,  and  when  he  fights  his  best  he's  hard  to  beat. 
The  bosses  can't  get  enough  iron-men  to  keep  their 
jobs  going.  That's  already  been  proved.  And  in  a 
little  while  all  the  other  trades  will  catch  up  to  where 
we  left  off;  they'll  have  to  stop  then,  for  they  can't 
do  anything  till  our  work's  been  doneo  That  '11  be 
equivalent  to  a  general  strike  in  all  the  building  trades. 
We'll  be  losing  money,  of  course,  but  so  '11  the  bosses. 
The  side  '11  win  that  can  hold  out  longest,  and  we're 
fixed  to  hold  out." 

"  According  to  all  the  talk  I  hear  the  victory  is 
bound  to  go  the  opposite  way." 

"  Well,  you  know  some  people  then  who'll  be 
mighty  disappointed !  "  Tom  returned. 

She  did  not  take  him  up,  and  silence  fell  between 
them.  Thus  far  their  talk  had  been  of  the  facts  of 
their  daily  lives,  and  though  it  had  been  unnatural 
in  that  it  was  far  from  the  matter  in  both  their  hearts, 
yet  by  help  of  its  moderate  distraction  they  had  man 
aged  to  keep  their  feelings  under  control.  But  now, 
that  distraction  ended,  Tom's  fever  began  to  burn 


WHAT   MIGHT  HAVE   BEEN     245 

back  upon  him.  He  sat  rigidly  upright,  his  eyes 
avoiding  her  face,  and  the  fever  flamed  higher  and 
higher.  Ruth  gazed  whitely  at  him,  hands  gripped 
in  her  lap,  her  faculties  slipping  from  her,  waiting  she 
hardly  knew  what.  Minutes  passed,  and  the  silence 
between  them  grew  intenser  and  more  intense. 

Amid  her  throbbing  dizziness  Ruth's  mind  held 
steadily  to  just  two  thoughts:  she  was  again  certain 
of  Tom's  love,  and  certain  that  his  pride  would  never 
allow  him  to  speak.  These  two  thoughts  pointed  her 
the  one  thing  there  was  for  her  to  dc  ;  the  one  thing 
that  must  be  done  for  both  their  sak  s — and  finally 
she  forced  herself  to  say:  "  It  has  been  a  long  time 
since  you  have  been  to  see  me.  I  had  thought  you 
had  quite  forgotten  me." 

"  I  have  thought  of  you  often?  "  he  managed  to 
return,  eyes  still  fixed  above  her,  his  self-control  tot 
tering. 

"  But  in  a  friendly  way? — No. — Or  you  would 
not  have  been  silent  through  two  months." 

His  eyes  came  down  and  fastened  upon  that  noble 
face,  and  the  words  escaped  by  the  guard  he  tried  to 
keep  at  his  lips:  "  I  have  never  had  a  friend  like 
you." 

She  waited. 

'  You  are  my  best  friend,"  the  words  continued. 

She  waited  again,  but  he  said  nothing  more. 

She  drove  herself  on.  "  And  yet  you  could — stay 
away  two  months? — till  I  sent  for  you?  " 

He  stood  up,  and  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 
as  if  looking  through  it — though  the  shade  was 
drawn.  She  saw  the  fingers  at  his  bajjc^wfithing  and 


or  THE 
UNIVERSITY 

OF 


246    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

knotting  themselves.  She  waited,  unwinking,  hardly 
breathing,  all  her  life  in  the  tumultuous  beating  of 
her  heart. 

He  turned  about.  His  face  was  almost  wild.  "  I 

stayed  away — because  I  love  you "  His  last 

word  was  a  gasp,  and  he  did  not  have  the  strength  to 
say  the  rest 

It  had  come !  Her  great  strain  over,  she  fairly  col 
lapsed  in  a  swooning  happiness.  Her  head  drooped, 
and  she  swayed  forward  till  her  elbows  were  on  her 
knees.  For  a  moment  she  existed  only  in  her  great, 
vague,  reeling  joy.  Then  she  heard  a  spasmodic 
gasp,  and  heard  his  hoarse  words  add: 

"  And  because — I  am  married." 

Her  head  uprose  slowly,  and  she  looked  at  him, 
looked  at  him,  with  a  deadly  stupefaction  in  her  eyes. 
A  sickening  minute  passed.  "Married?"  she 
whispered. 

"  Yes— married." 

A  terrified  pallor  overspread  her  face,  but  the  face 
held  fixedly  to  his  own.  He  stood  rigid,  looking  at 
her.  Her  strange  silence  began  to  alarm  him. 

"What  is  it?  "he  cried. 

Her  face  did  not  change,  and  seconds  passed. 
Suddenly  a  gasp,  then  a  little  groan,  broke  from  her. 
"Married!  "she  cried. 

For  a  moment  he  was  astounded;  then  he  began 

dimly  to  understand.  "  What,  you  don't  mean " 

he  commenced,  with  dry  lips.  He  moved,  with 
uncertain  steps,  up  before  her.  "  You  don't — care 
forme?" 

The  head  bowed  a  trifle. 


WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE   BEEN     247 

"  Oh,  my  God!"  He  half  staggered  backward 
into  a  chair,  and  his  face  fell  into  his  hands.  He  saw, 
in  an  agonizing  vision,  what  might  have  been  his,  and 
what  never  could  be  his;  and  he  saw  the  wide  desert 
of  his  future. 

"You!  "    He  heard  her  voice,  and  he  looked  up. 

She  was  on  her  feet,  and  was  standing  directly  in 
front  of  him.  Her  hands  were  clenched  upon  folds 
of  her  skirt.  Her  breath  was  coming  rapidly.  Her 
eyes  were  flashing. 

"  You!  How  could  you  come  to  see  me  as  you 
have,  and  you  married?"  She  spoke  tremulously, 
fiercely,  and  at  the  last  her  voice  broke  into  a  sob. 
Tears  ran  down  her  cheeks,  but  she  did  not  heed  them. 

Tom's  face  dropped  back  into  his  hands;  he  could 
not  stand  the  awful  accusation  of  that  gaze.  She  was 
another  victim  of  his  tragedy,  an  innocent  victim — 
and  his  victim.  He  saw  in  a  flash  the  whole  ghastly 
part  he,  in  ignorance,  had  played.  A  groan  burst 
from  his  lips,  and  he  writhed  in  his  self-abasement. 

"  How  could  you  do  it?"  he  heard  her  fiercely 
demand  again.  "  Oh,  you  !  you  !  "  He  heard  her 
sweep  across  the  little  room,  and  then  sweep  back; 
and  he  knew  she  was  standing  before  him,  gazing 
down  at  him  in  anguish,  anger,  contempt. 

He  groaned  again.  "  What  can  I  say  to  you — 
what?" 

There  was  silence.  He  could  feel  her  eyes,  un 
changing,  still  on  him.  Presently  he  began  to  speak 
into  his  hands,  in  a  low,  broken  voice.  "  I  can  make 
no  excuse.  I  don't  know  that  I  can  explain.  But 
I  never  intended  to  do  this.  Never!  Never  1 


248    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

'  You  know  how  we  met,  how  we  came  to  be 
together  the  first  two  or  three  times.  Afterwards 
...  I  said  awhile  ago  that  you  were  my  best  friend. 
I  have  had  few  real  friends — none  but  you  who  sym 
pathized  with  me,  who  seemed  to  understand  me. 
Well,  afterwards  I  came  because — I  never  stopped  to 
think  why  I  came.  I  guess  because  you  understood, 
and  I  liked  you.  And  so  I  came.  As  a  man  might 
come  to  see  a  good  man  friend.  And  I  never  once 
thought  I  was  doing  wrong.  And  I  never  thought  of 
my  wife — that  is,  you  understand,  that  she  made  it 

wrong  for  me  to  see  you.  I  never  thought If 

you  believe  in  me  at  all,  you  must  believe  this.  You 
must !  And  then — one  day — I  saw  you  with  another 
man,  and  I  knew  I  loved  you.  I  awoke.  I  saw  what 
I  ought  to  do.  I  tried  to  do  it — but  it  was  very  hard 
— and  I  came  to  see  you  again — the  last  time.  I  said 
once  more  I  \vould  not  see  you  again.  It  was  still 
hard,  very  hard — but  I  did  not.  And  then — your 
letter — came ' ' 

His  words  dwindled  away.  Then,  after  a  moment, 
he  said  very  humbly:  "  Perhaps  I  don't  just  under 
stand  how  to  be  a  gentleman." 

Again  silence.  Presently  he  felt  a  light  touch  on 
his  shoulder.  He  raised  his  eyes.  She  was  still  gaz 
ing  at  him,  her  face  very  white,  but  no  anger  in  it. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said. 

He  rose — weak.     "  I  can't  ask  that  you  forgive 


me." 


"No.    Not  now." 

"Of  course.     I  have  meant  to  you  only  grief — 
pain.    And  can  mean  only  that  to  you,  always." 


WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN     249 

She  did  not  deny  his  words. 

"  Of  course,"  he  agreed.  Then  he  stood,  without 
words,  unmoving. 

u  You  had  better  go,"  she  said  at  length. 

He  took  his  hat  mechanically.    "  The  future?  " 

"  You  were  right." 

4  You  mean — we  should  not  meet  again  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  last  time." 

Again  he  stood  silent,  unmoving. 

"  You  had  better  go,"  she  said.     "  Good-night." 

"  Good-night." 

He  moved  sideways  to  the  door,  his  eyes  never 
leaving  her.  He  paused.  She  stood  just  as  she  had 
since  she  had  touched  his  shoulder.  He  moved  back 
to  her,  as  in  a  trance. 

"  No."    She  held  up  a  hand,  as  if  to  ward  him  off. 

He  took  the  hand — and  the  other  hand.  They 
were  all  a-tremble.  And  he  bent  down,  slowly, 
toward  her  face  that  he  saw  as  in  a  mist.  The  face 
did  not  recede.  Their  cold  lips  met.  At  the  touch 
she  collapsed,  and  the  next  instant  she  was  sobbing 
convulsively  in  his  arms. 

And  all  that  night  she  lay  dressed  on  her  couch 
.  .  .  And  all  that  night  he  walked  the  streets. 


Chapter  XXII 
THE    PROGRESS    OF   THE    STRIKE 


^  M  ^HEN  morning  began  to  creep  into  the 
m  I  ^b  streets,  and  while  it  was  yet  only  a  dingy 
\  I  w  m^St'  Tom  sapped  quietly  into  his  flat  and 
V^l^  stretched  his  wearied  length  upon  the 
couch,  his  anguish  subdued  to  an  aching  numbness  by 
his  lone  walk.  He  lay  for  a  time,  his  eyes  turned 
dully  into  the  back  yard,  watching  the  dirty  light  grow 
cleaner;  and  presently  he  sank  into  a  light  sleep.  After 
a  little  his  eyes  opened  and  he  saw  Maggie  looking 
intently  at  him  from  their  bedroom  door. 

For  a  moment  the  two  of  them  maintained  a  silent 
gaze.  Then  she  asked  :  "  You  were  out  all  night?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  passively. 

"Why?" 

He  hesitated.     "  I  was  walking  about  —  thinking." 

"I  should  think  you  would  be  thinking!  After 
what  happened  to  you  Wednesday,  and  after  losing 
your  job  yesterday!  " 

He  did  not  correct  her  misinterpretation  of  his 
answer,  and  as  he  said  nothing  more  she  turned  back 
into  the  bedroom,  and  soon  emerged  dressed.  As 
she  moved  about  preparing  breakfast  his  eyes  rested 
on  her  now  and  then,  and  in  a  not  unnatural  selfish 
ness  he  dully  wondered  why  they  two  were  married. 
Her  feeling  for  him,  he  knew,  was  of  no  higher  sort 

250 


PROGRESS   OF  THE   STRIKE     251 

than  that  attachment  which  dependence  upon  a  man 
and  the  sense  of  being  linked  to  him  for  life  may 
engender  in  an  unspiritual  woman.  There  was  no 
love  between  them;  they  had  no  ideas  in  common;  she 
wras  not  this,  and  not  this,  and  not  this.  And  all  the 
things  that  she  was  not,  the  other  was.  And  it  was 
always  to  be  Maggie  that  he  was  to  see  thus  inti 
mately. 

He  had  bowed  to  the  situation  as  the  ancients 
bowed  to  fate — accepted  it  as  a  fact  as  unchangeable 
as  death  that  has  fallen.  And  yet,  as  he  lay  watching 
her,  thinking  it  was  to  be  always  so, — always ! — his 
soul  was  filled  with  agonizing  rebellion;  and  so  it  was 
to  be  through  many  a  day  to  come.  But  later,  as  his 
first  pain  began  to  settle  into  an  aching  sense  of  irrep 
arable  loss,  his  less  selfish  vision  showed  him  that 
Maggie  was  no  more  to  blame  for  their  terrible  mis 
take  than  he,  and  not  so  much;  and  that  she,  in  a  less 
painful  degree,  was  also  a  pitiable  victim  of  their 
error.  He  became  consciously  considerate  of  her. 
For  her  part,  she  at  first  marveled  at  this  gentler 
manner,  then  slowly  yielded  to  it. 

But  this  is  running  ahead.  The  first  days  were  all 
the  harder  to  Tom  because  he  had  no  work  to  share 
his  time  with  his  pain.  He  did  not  seek  another  posi 
tion;  as  he  had  told  Ruth,  he  knew  it  would  be  useless 
to  ask  for  work  so  long  as  the  charge  of  being  a 
dynamiter  rested  upon  him.  He  walked  about  the 
streets,  trying  to  forget  his  pain  in  mixing  among  his 
old  friends,  with  no  better  financial  hope  than  to 
wait  till  the  court  had  cleared  his  name.  Several  times 
he  met  Pig  Iron  Pete,  who,  knowing  only  the  public 


252    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

cause  for  Tom's  dejection,  prescribed  a  few  drinks 
as  the  best  cure  for  such  sorrow,  and  showed  his  faith 
in  his  remedy  by  offering  to  take  the  same  medicine. 
And  one  evening  he  brought  his  cheerless  presence  to 
the  Barrys'.  "Poor  fellow!"  sighed  Mrs.  Barry 
after  he  had  gone.  "  He  takes  his  thumps  hard." 

One  day  as  he  walked  about  the  streets  he  met 
Petersen,  and  with  the  Swede  was  a  stocky,  red-faced, 
red-necked  man  wearing  a  red  necktie  whose  brilliance 
came  to  a  focus  in  a  great  diamond  pin.  Petersen 
had  continued  to  call  frequently  after  nightly  atten 
dance  had  become  unnecessary.  Two  weeks  before 
Tom  had  gleaned  from  him  by  hard  questioning  that 
the  monthly  rent  of  twelve  dollars  was  overdue,  the 
landlord  was  raging,  there  was  nothing  with  which 
to  pay,  and  also  nothing  in  the  house  to  eat.  The 
next  day  Tom  had  drawn  fifteen  dollars  from  his  little 
bank  account,  and  held  it  by  him  to  give  to  Petersen 
when  he  next  called.  But  he  had  not  come  again. 
Now  on  seeing  him  Tom's  first  feeling  was  of  guilt 
that  he  had  not  carried  the  needed  money  to  Peter- 
sen's  home. 

The  stocky  man,  when  he  saw  the  two  were 
friends,  withdrew  himself  to  the  curb  and  began  to 
clean  his  nails  with  his  pocket  knife.  "  How  are 
you,  Petersen?"  Tom  asked. 

u  I'm  purty  good,"  Petersen  returned,  glancing 
restlessly  at  the  stocky  man. 

"  You  don't  need  a  little  money,  do  you?"  Tom 
queried  anxiously. 

u  No.  I'm  vorkin'."  He  again  looked  restlessly 
at  his  manicuring  friend. 


PROGRESS   OF   THE   STRIKE     253 

"  You  don't  say!    That's  good.    What  at?  " 

Petersen's  restlessness  became  painful.  u  At  de 
docks." 

Tom  saw  plainly  that  Petersen  was  anxious  to  get 
away,  so  he  said  good-by  and  walked  on,  puzzled  by 
the  Swede's  strange  manner,  by  his  rather  unusual 
companion,  and  puzzled  also  as  to  how  his  work  as 
longshoreman  permitted  him  to  roam  the  streets  in 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 

When  Tom  met  friends  in  his  restless  wanderings 
and  stopped  to  talk  to  them,  the  subject  was  usually 
the  injustice  he  had  suffered  or  the  situation  regarding 
the  strike.  Up  to  the  day  of  the  Avon  explosion  the 
union  as  a  whole  had  been  satisfied  with  the  strike's 
progress.  That  event,  of  course,  had  weakened  the 
strikers'  cause  before  the  public.  But  the  promptness 
with  which  the  union  was  credited  to  have  renounced 
the  instigator  of  the  outrage  partially  restored  the 
ironworkers  to  their  position.  They  were  com 
pletely  restored  three  days  after  the  explosion,  when 
Mr.  Baxter,  smarting  under  his  recent  loss  and  not 
being  able  to  retaliate  directly  upon  Foley,  permitted 
himself  to  be  induced  by  a  newspaper  to  express  his 
sentiments  upon  labor  unions.  The  interview  was  an 
elaboration  of  the  views  which  are  already  partly 
known  to  the  reader.  By  reason  of  the  rights  which 
naturally  belong  to  property,  he  said,  by  reason  of 
capital's  greatly  superior  intelligence,  it  was  the  privi 
lege  of  capital,  nay  even  its  duty,  to  arrange  the  utter 
most  detail  of  its  affairs  without  any  consultation 
whatever  with  labor,  whose  views  were  always  selfish 
and  necessarily  always  unintelligent.  The  high  as- 


254    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

sumption  of  superiority  in  Mr.  Baxter's  interview,  its 
paternalistic,  even  monarchical,  character,  did  not 
appeal  to  his  more  democratic  and  less  capitalized 
readers,  and  they  drew  nearer  in  sympathy  to  the  men 
he  was  fighting. 

As  the  last  days  of  May  passed  one  by  one,  Tom's 
predictions  to  Ruth  began  to  have  their  fulfillment. 
By  the  first  of  June  a  great  part  of  the  building  in  the 
city  was  practically  at  a  standstill;  the  other  building 
trades  had  caught  up  with  the  ironworkers  on  many 
of  the  jobs,  and  so  had  to  lay  down  their  tools.  The 
contractors  in  these  trades  were  all  checked  more  or 
less  in  their  work.  Their  daily  loss  quickly  overcame 
their  natural  sympathy  with  the  iron  contractors  and 
Mr.  Baxter  was  beset  by  them.  "  We  haven't  any 
trouble  with  our  men,"  ran  the  gist  of  their  complaint. 
"  Why  should  we  be  losing  money  just  because  you 
and  your  men  can't  agree?  For  God's  sake,  settle  it 
up  so  we  can  get  to  work !  " 

Owners  of  buildings  in  process  of  construction,  with 
big  sums  tied  up  in  them,  began  to  grow  frantic.  Their 
agreements  with  the  cohtractors  placed  upon  the  latter 
a  heavy  fine  for  every  day  the  completion  of  the  build 
ings  was  delayed  beyond  the  specified  time;  but  the 
contracts  contained  a  "  strike  clause  "  which  exempted 
the  bosses  from  penalties  for  delays  caused  by  strikes. 
And  so  the  loss  incurred  by  the  present  delay  fell 
solely  upon  the  owners.  "  Settle  this  up  somehow," 
they  were  constantly  demanding  of  Mr.  Baxter. 
"  YouVe  delayed  my  building  a  month.  There's  a 
month's  interest  on  my  money,  and  my  natural  profits 
for  a  month,  both  gone  to  blazes !  " 


PROGRESS   OF  THE   STRIKE     255 

To  all  of  these  Mr.  Baxter's  answer  was  in  sub 
stance  the  same :  "  The  day  the  union  gives  up,  on 
that  day  the  strike  is  settled."  And  this  he  said  with 
unchangeable  resolution  showing  through  his  voice. 
The  bosses  and  owners  went  away  cursing  and  look 
ing  hopelessly  upon  an  immediate  future  whose  only 
view  to  them  was  a  desert  of  loss. 

But  Mr.  Baxter  did  not  have  in  his  heart  the  same 
steely  decision  he  had  in  his  manner.  Events  had  not 
taken  just  the  course  he  had  foreseen.  The  division 
in  the  union,  on  which  he  had  counted  for  its  fall,  had 
been  mended  by  the  subsidence  of  Tom.  The  union's 
resources  were  almost  exhausted,  true,  but  it  was 
receiving  some  financial  assistance  from  its  national 
organization,  and  its  fighting  spirit  was  as  strong  as 
ever.  If  the  aid  of  the  national  organization  con 
tinued  to  be  given,  and  if  the  spirit  of  the  men 
remained  high,  Mr.  Baxter  realized  that  the  union 
could  hold  out  indefinitely.  The  attempt  to  replace 
the  strikers  by  non-union  men  had  been  a  failure;  Mr. 
Driscoll  and  himself  were  the  only  contractors  who 
still  maintained  the  expensive  farce  of  keeping  a  few 
scabs  at  work.  And  despite  his  surface  indifference 
to  it,  the  pressure  of  the  owners  of  buildings  and  of 
the  bosses  in  other  trades  had  a  little  effect  upon  Mr. 
Baxter,  and  more  than  a  little  upon  some  other  mem 
bers  of  the  Executive  Committee.  A  few  of  the 
employers  were  already  eager  to  yield  to  the  strikers' 
demand,  preferring  decreased  profits  to  a  long  period 
of  none  at  all;  but  when  Mr.  Isaacs  attempted  to 
voice  the  sentiments  of  these  gentlemen  in  a  meeting 
of  the  Executive  Committee,  a  look  from  Mr.  Bax- 


256    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

ter's  steady  gray  eyes  was  enough  to  close  him  up 
disconcerted. 

So  Buck  Foley  was  not  without  a  foundation  in  fact 
for  his  hopeful  words  when  he  said  in  his  report  to 
the  union  at  the  first  meeting  in  June:  "  The  only 
way  we  can  lose  this  strike,  boys,  is  to  give  it  away." 

Which  remark  might  be  said,  by  one  speaking  from 
the  vantage  of  later  events,  to  have  been  a  bit  of 
unconscious  prophecy. 


Chapter  XXIII 
THE    TRIUMPH    OF    BUSINESS    SENSE 

R.  BAXTER  had  to  withstand  pressure 
from  still  another  source — from  himself. 
His  business  sense,  as  had  owners  and 
contractors,  demanded  of  him  an  imme 
diate  settlement  of  the  strike.  In  its  frequent  debates 
with  him  it  was  its  habit  to  argue  by  repeating  the 
list  of  evils  begotten  by  the  strike,  placing  its  em 
phasis  on  his  losses  that  promised  to  continue  for 
months  to  come.  Unlike  most  reformers  and  other 
critics  of  the  status  quo,  Mr.  Baxter's  business  sense 
\vas  not  merely  destructive;  it  offered  a  practicable 
plan  for  betterment — a  plan  that  guaranteed  victory 
over  the  strikers  and  required  only  the  sacrifice  of 
his  pride. 

But  Mr.  Baxter's  pride  refused  to  be  sacrificed. 
His  business  sense  had  suggested  the  plan  shortly 
after  the  union  had  voted  to  strike.  He  would  have 
adopted  the  plan  immediately,  as  the  obvious  pro 
cedure  in  the  situation,  had  it  not  been  for  the  break 
with  Foley.  But  the  break  had  come,  and  his  pride 
could  not  forget  that  last  visit  of  Foley  to  his  private 
office;  it  had  demanded  that  the  walking  delegate 
be  humiliated — utterly  crushed.  His  business  sense, 
from  the  other  side,  had  argued  the  folly  of  allowing 
mere  emotion  to  stand  in  the  way  of  victory  and  the 

257 


258    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

profitable  resumption  of  werk.  Outraged  pride  had 
been  the  stronger  during  April  and  May,  but  as  the 
possibility  of  its  satisfaction  had  grown  less  and  less 
as  May  had  dragged  by,  the  pressure  of  his  business 
sense  had  become  greater  and  greater.  And  the 
Avon  explosion  had  given  business  sense  a  further 
chance  to  greaten.  "  Try  the  plan  at  once,"  it  had 
exhorted;  "if  you  don't,  Foley  may  do  it  again." 
However,  for  all  the  pressure  of  owners  and  con 
tractors  and  of  his  business  sense — owners  and 
contractors  urging  any  sort  of  settlement,  so  that  it 
be  a  settlement,  business  sense  urging  its  own  private 
plan — in  the  early  days  of  June  Mr.  Baxter  con 
tinued  to  present  the  same  appearance  of  wall-like 
firmness.  But  his  firmness  was  that  of  a  dam  that 
can  sustain  a  pressure  of  one  hundred,  and  is  bearing 
a  pressure  of  ninety-nine  with  its  habitual  show  of 
eternal  fixedness. 

Mr.  Baxter  had  to  withstand  pressure  from  yet 
another  source — from  his  wife.  When  he  had  told 
her  in  early  May  that  the  strike  was  not  going  to 
be  settled  as  quickly  as  he  had  first  thought,  and  had 
asked  her  to  practice  such  temporary  economy  as 
she  could,  she  had  acquiesced  graciously  but  with 
an  aching  heart;  and  instead  of  going  to  Europe  as 
she  had  intended,  she  and  her  daughter  had  run  up 
to  Tuxedo,  where  with  two  maids,  carriage,  and 
coachman,  they  were  managing  to  make  both  ends 
meet  on  three  hundred  dollars  a  week.  But  when  the 
first  days  of  June  had  come,  and  no  prospect  of 
settlement,  she  began  to  think  with  swelling  anxiety 
of  the  Newport  season. 


TRIUMPH  OF   BUSINESS  SENSE      259 

"  Why  can't  this  thing  be  settled  right  off  ?  "  she 
said  to  her  husband  who  had  run  up  Friday  evening — 
the  Friday  after  the  Wednesday  Foley  had  assured 
the  union  of  certain  victory — to  stay  with  her  over 
Saturday  and  Sunday.  And  she  acquainted  him 
with  her  besetting  fears. 

Only  another  unit  of  pressure  was  needed  to  over 
turn  the  wall  of  Mr.  Baxter's  resistance,  and  the 
stress  of  his  wife's  words  was  many  times  the  force 
required.  During  his  two  days  at  Tuxedo  Mr. 
Baxter  sat  much  of  the  time  apart  in  quiet  thought. 
Mrs.  Baxter  was  too  considerate  a  wife  to  repeat  to 
him  her  anxieties,  or  to  harass  him  with  pleas  and 
questions,  but  just  before  he  left  early  Monday  morn 
ing  for  the  city  she  could  not  refrain  from  saying: 
"  You  will  try,  won't  you,  dear,  to  end  the  strike 
soon?" 

"  Yes,  dear." 

She  beamed  upon  him.     "How  soon?" 

11  It  will  last  about  three  more  weeks." 

She  fell  on  his  neck  with  a  happy  cry,  and  kissed 
him.  She  asked  him  to  explain,  but  his  business 
sense  had  told  him  it  would  be  better  if  she  did  not 
know  the  plan,  and  his  love  had  given  him  the  same 
counsel;  so  he  merely  answered,  "  I  am  certain  the 
union  will  give  up,"  and  plead  his  haste  to  catch 
his  train  as  excuse  for  saying  nothing  more. 

That  afternoon  a  regular  meeting  of  the  Execu 
tive  Committee  took  place  in  Mr.  Baxter's  office.  It 
was  not  a  very  cheerful  quintet  that  sat  about  the 
cherry  table:  Isaacs,  in  his  heart  ready  to  abandon 
the  fight;  Bobbs,  Murphy,  and  Driscoll,  determined 


26o    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

to  win,  but  with  no  more  speedy  plan  than  to  con 
tinue  the  siege ;  and  Baxter,  cold  and  polite  as  usual, 
and  about  as  inspiring  as  a  frozen  thought. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  early  part  of  the  meeting 
to  put  enthusiasm  into  the  committee.  First  of  all, 
Mr.  Baxter  read  a  letter  from  the  Civic  Federation, 
asking  the  committee  if  it  would  be  willing  to  meet 
again,  in  the  interest  of  a  settlement,  with  the 
strikers'  committee. 

"Why  not?"  said  Isaacs,  trying  to  subdue  his 
eagerness  to  a  business-like  calm.  "  We've  got 
nothing  to  lose  by  it." 

"And  nothing  to  gain!  "  snorted  Driscoll. 

"  Tell  the  Civic  Federation,  not  on  its  life,"  ad 
vised  Murphy.  "  And  tell  'em  to  cut  their  letters 
out.  We're  gettin'  tired  o'  their  eternal  buttin'  in." 

Baxter  gave  Murphy  a  chilly  glance.  '  We'll 
consider  that  settled  then,"  he  said  quietly.  In  his 
own  mind,  however,  he  had  assigned  the  offer  of  the 
Civic  Federation  to  a  definite  use. 

There  were  several  routine  reports  on  the  condi 
tion  of  the  strike ;  and  the  members  of  the  committee 
had  a  chance  to  propose  new  plans.  Baxter  was  not 
ready  to  offer  his — he  hung  back  from  broaching 
it;  and  the  others  had  none.  "  Nothin'  to  do  but 
set  still  and  starve  'em  out,"  said  Murphy,  and  no 
one  contradicted  him. 

At  the  previous  meeting,  when  pride  was  still 
regnant  within  him,  Mr.  Baxter  had  announced  that 
he  had  put  detectives  on  the  Avon  case  with  the  hope 
of  gaining  evidence  that  would  convict  Foley  of 
complicity  in  the  explosion.  Since  then  the  detec- 


TRIUMPH   OF   BUSINESS  SENSE      261 

tives  had  reported  that  though  morally  certain  of 
Foley's  direct  responsibility  they  could  find  not  one 
bit  of  legal  evidence  against  him.  Furthermore, 
business  sense  had  whispered  Mr.  Baxter  that  it 
would  be  better  to  let  the  matter  drop,  for  if 
brought  to  trial  Foley  might,  in  a  fit  of  recklessness, 
make  some  undesirable  disclosures.  So,  for  his  own 
reasons,  Mr.  Baxter  had  thus  far  guarded  the  Avon 
explosion  from  the  committee's  talk.  But  at 
length  Mr.  Driscoll,  restless  at  the  de-ad  subjects  they 
were  discussing,  avoided  his  guard  and  asked:  "  Any 
thing  new  in  the  Avon  business?  " 

"  Nothing.  My  detectives  have  failed  to  find 
any  proof  at  all  of  Mr.  Foley's  guilt." 

"  Arrest  him  anyhow,"  said  Driscoll.  "  If  we 
can  convict  him,  why  the  back  of  the  strike's  broken." 

"  There's  no  use  arresting  a  man  unless  you  can 
convict  him." 

"Take  the  risk!  You're  losing  your  nerve, 
Baxter." 

Baxter  flushed  the  least  trifle  at  Driscoll's  words, 
but  he  did  not  retort.  His  eyes  ran  over  the  faces 
of  the  four  with  barely  perceptible  hesitancy.  He 
felt  this  to  be  his  opening,  but  the  plan  of  his  busi 
ness  sense  was  a  subject  difficult  and  delicate  to 
handle. 

"  I  have  a  better  use  for  Mr.  Foley,"  he  said 
steadily. 

"  Yes?  "  cried  the  others,  and  leaned  toward  him. 
When  Baxter  said  this  much,  they  knew  he  had  a 
vast  deal  more  to  say. 

"  If  we  could  convict  him  I'd  be  in  favor  of  his 


262    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

arrest.  But  if  we  try,  we'll  fail;  and  that  will  be 
a  triumph  for  the  union.  So  to  arrest  him  is  bad 
policy." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Murphy. 

;t  Whatever  we  may  say  to  the  public,  we  know 
among  ourselves  this  strike  is  nowhere  near  its  end. 
It  may  last  all  summer — the  entire  building  season." 

The  four  men  nodded. 

Baxter  now  spoke  with  apparent  effort.  "  Why 
not  make  use  of  Foley  and  win  it  in  three  weeks?  " 

"How?"  asked  Driscoll  suspiciously. 

"  How?  "  asked  the  others  eagerly. 

"  I  suppose  most  of  you  have  been  held  up  by 
Foley?" 

There  were  four  affirmative  answers. 

"  You  know  he's  for  sale?  " 

"  I've  been  forced  to  buy  him!  "  said  Driscoll. 

Baxter  went  on  more  easily,  and  with  the  smooth 
ness  of  a  book.  "  We  have  all  found  ourselves,  I 
suppose,  compelled  to  take  measures  in  the  interests 
of  peace  or  the  uninterrupted  continuance  of  business 
that  were  repugnant  to  us.  What  I  am  going  to 
suggest  is  a  thing  I  would  rather  not  have  to  do; 
but  we  are  face  to  face  with  two  evils,  and  this  is 
the  lesser. 

'  You  will  bear  me  out,  of  course,  when  I  say 
the  demands  of  the  union  are  without  the  bounds  of 
reason.  We  can't  afford  to  grant  the  demands; 
and  yet  the  fight  against  the  union  may  use  up  the 
whole  building  season.  We'll  lose  a  year's  profits, 
and  the  men  will  lose  a  year's  wages,  and  in  the  end 
we'll  win.  Since  we  are  certain  to  win,  anyhow,  it 


TRIUMPH   OF   BUSINESS  SENSE      263 

seems  to  me  that  any  plan  that  will  enable  us  to  win 
at  once,  and  save  our  profits  and  the  men's  wages, 
is  justifiable." 

"  Of  course,"  said  three  of  the  men. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  Driscoll  asked  guardedly. 

"  Many  a  rebellion  has  been  quelled  by  satisfying 
the  leader." 

"  Oh,  come  right  out  with  what  you  mean," 
demanded  Driscoll. 

u  The  quickest  way  of  settling  the  strike,  and  the 
cheapest,  for  both  us  and  the  union,  is  to — well,  see 
that  Foley  is  satisfied." 

Driscoll  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  chair  tumbling  on 
its  back,  and  his  fist  came  down  upon  the  table.  "  I 
thought  you  were  driving  at  that!  By  God,  I'm 
getting  sick  of  this  whole  dirty  underhand  way  of 
doing  business.  I'd  get  out  if  I  had  a  half-way 
decent  offer.  The  union  is  in  the  wrong.  Of 
course  it  is !  But  I  want  to  fight  'em  on  the  square 
— in  the  open.  I  don't  want  to  win  by  bribing  a 
traitor!  " 

;<  It's  a  case  where  it  would  be  wrong  not  to  bribe 
— if  you  want  to  use  so  harsh  a  word,"  said  Baxter, 
his  face  tinged  the  least  bit  with  red.  "  It  is  either 
to  satisfy  Mr.  Foley  or  to  lose  a  summer's  work  and 
have  the  men  and  their  families  suffer  from  the  loss 
of  a  summer's  wages.  It's  a  choice  between  evils. 
I'll  leave  to  the  gentlemen  here,  which  is  the  greater." 

"Oh,  give  your  conscience  a  snooze,  Driscoll!" 
growled  Murphy. 

11  I  think  Baxter's  reasoning  is  good,"  said  Bobbs. 
Isaacs  corroborated  him  with  a  nod. 


264    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  It's  smooth  reasoning,  but  it's  rotten ! — as  rotten 
as  hell!  "  He  glared  about  on  the  four  men.  "  Are 
you  all  in  for  Baxter's  plan?  " 

"  We  haven't  heard  it  all  yet,"  said  Bobbs. 

'  You've  heard  enough  to  guess  the  rest,"  snorted 
Driscoll. 

"  I  think  it's  worth  tryin',"  said  Murphy. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Bobbs. 

"  We  can  do  no  less  than  that,"  said  Isaacs. 

"Then  you'll  try  it  without  me!"  Driscoll 
shouted.  u  I  resign  from  this  committee,  and  resign 
quick!" 

He'  grabbed  his  hat  from  Baxter's  desk  and 
stamped  toward  the  door.  Mr.  Baxter's  smooth 
voice  stopped  him  as  his  hand  was  on  the  knob. 

"  Even  if  you  do  withdraw,  of  course  you'll  keep 
secret  what  we  have  proposed." 

Driscoll  gulped  for  a  moment  before  he  could 
speak;  his  face  deepened  its  purplish  red,  and  his 
eyes  snapped  and  snapped.  "  Damn  you,  Baxter, 
what  sort  d'you  think  I  am!  "  he  exploded.  "  Of 
course !  " 

He  opened  the  door,  there  was  a  furious  slam,  and 
he  was  gone. 

The  four  men  looked  at  each  other  questioningly. 
Baxter  broke  the  silence.  "  A  good  fellow,"  he 
said  with  a  touch  of  pity.  "But  his  ideas  are  too 
inelastic  for  the  business  world." 

"  He  ought  to  be  runnin'  a  girls'  boardin'  school," 
commented  Murphy. 

"  Perhaps  it's  just  as  well  he  withdrew,"  said 
Baxter.  "  I  take  it  we're  pretty  much  of  one  mind." 


TRIUMPH   OF   BUSINESS  SENSE      265 

"  Anything  to  settle  the  strike — that's  me,"  said 
Murphy.  "  Come  on  now,  Baxter;  give  us  the 
whole  plan.  Just  handin'  a  roll  over  to  Foley  ain't 
goin'  to  settle  it.  That'd  do  if  it  was  his  strike. 
But  it  ain't.  It's  the  union's — about  three  thousand 
men.  How  are  you  goin'  to  bring  the  union 
around?  " 

u  The  money  brings  Foley  around;  Foley  brings 
the  union  around.  It's  very  simple." 

"  As  simple  as  two  and  two  makes  seven,"  growled 
Murphy.  "  Give  us  the  whole  thing." 

Baxter  outlined  his  entire  plan,  as  he  expected  it 
to  work  out. 

44  That  sounds  good,"  said  Bobbs.  "  But  are  you 
certain  we  can  buy  Foley  off?  " 

14  Sure  thing,"  replied  Murphy,  answering  for 
Baxter.  4'  If  we  offer  him  enough." 

"How  much  do  you  think  it  '11  take?"  asked 
Isaacs. 

Baxter  named  a  figure. 

44  So  much  as  that!  "  cried  Isaacs. 

'  That  isn't  very  much,  coming  from  the  Associa 
tion,"  said  Baxter.  "  You're  losing  as  much  in  a 
week  as  your  assessment  would  come  to." 

14  I  suppose  you  want  the  whole  Association  to 
know  all  about  this,"  remarked  Murphy.  t 

44  Only  we  four  are  to  know  anything." 

44  How'll  you  get  the  Association  to  give  you  the 
money  then?"  Murphy  followed  up. 

44  I  can  get  the  emergency  fund  increased.  We 
have  to  give  no  account  of  that,  you  know." 

44  You  seem  to  have  thought  o'  everything,  Bax- 


266    THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

ter,"  Murphy  admitted.     "  I  say  we  can't  see  Foley 
any  too  soon." 

Bobbs  and  Isaacs  approved  this  judgment 
heartily. 

"  I'll  write  him,  then,  to  meet  us  here  to-morrow 
afternoon.  There's  one  more  point  now."  He 
paused  to  hunt  for  a  phrase.  "  Don't  you  think  the 
suggestion  should — ah — come  from  him?  " 

The  three  men  looked  puzzled.  "  My  mind 
don't  make  the  jump,"  said  Murphy. 

Baxter  coughed.  It  was  not  very  agreeable,  this 
having  to  say  things  right  out.  "  Don't  you  see? 
If  we  make  the  offer,  it's — well,  it's  bribery.  But  if 
we  can  open  the  way  a  little  bit,  and  lead  him  on  to 
make  the  demand,  why  we're " 

"  Held  up,  o'  course!  "  supplied  Murphy  admir 
ingly. 

1  Yes.  In  that  case,  if  the  negotiations  with  Foley 
come  to  nothing,  or  there  is  a  break  later,  Foley  can't 
make  capital  out  of  it,  as  he  might  in  the  first  case. 
We're  safe." 

'  We  couldn't  help  ourselves !  We  were  held  up !  " 
Alderman  Murphy  could  not  restrain  a  joyous  laugh, 
and  he  held  out  a  red  hairy  hand.  "  Put  'er  there, 
Baxter !  There  was  a  time  when  I  classed  you  with 
the  rest  o'  jhe  reform  bunch  you  stand  with  in  politics 
— fit  for  nothin'  but  to  wear  white  kid  gloves  and  to 
tell  people  how  good  you  are.  But  say,  you're  the 
smoothest  article  I've  met  yet !  " 

Baxter,  with  hardly  concealed  reluctance,  placed  his 
soft  slender  hand  in  Murphy's  oily  paw. 


Chapter  XXIV 
BUSINESS    IS    BUSINESS 

IT  had  been  hard  for  Baxter  to  broach  his 
plan  to  the  Executive  Committee.  The 
next  step  in  the  plan  was  far  harder — to 
write  the  letter  to  Foley.  His  revolted 
pride  upreared  itself  against  this  act,  but  his  business 
sense  forced  him  to  go  on  with  what  he  had  begun. 
So  he  wrote  the  letter — not  an  easy  task  of  itself, 
since  the  letter  had  to  be  so  vague  as  to  tell  Foley 
nothing,  and  yet  so  luring  as  to  secure  his  presence — 
and  sent  it  to  Foley's  house  by  messenger. 

The  next  afternoon  at  a  quarter  past  two  the  com 
mittee  was  again  in  Baxter's  office.  Foley  had  been 
asked  to  come  at  half-past.  The  fifteen  minutes 
before  his  expected  arrival  they  spent  in  rehearsing 
the  plan,  so  soon  to  be  put  to  its  severest  test. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  do  all  the  talking,  Baxter,"  said 
Bobbs. 

"  Sure,"  answered  Murphy.  "  It's  his  game.  I 
don't  like  to  give  in  that  any  man's  better  than  me, 
but  when  it  comes  to  fine  work  o'  this  kind  we  ain't 
one,  two,  three  with  Baxter." 

Baxter  took  the  compliment  with  unchanged  face. 

Foley  was  not  on  time.  At  two-forty  he  had  not 
come,  and  that  he  would  come  at  all  began  to  be 

267 


268    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

doubted.  At  two-fifty  he  had  not  arrived.  At  three 
none  of  the  four  really  expected  him. 

"  Let's  go,"  said  Murphy.  "  He'd  'a'  been  here 
on  time  if  he  was  comin'  at  all.  I  ain't  goin'  to  waste 
my  time  waitin'  on  any  walkin'  delegate." 

"  Perhaps  there  has  been  some  mistake — perhaps 
he  didn't  get  the  letter,"  suggested  Baxter.  But  his 
explanation  did  not  satisfy  himself;  he  had  a  grow 
ing  fear  that  he  had  humiliated  himself  in  vain,  that 
Foley  had  got  the  letter  and  was  laughing  at  him — 
a  new  humiliation  greater  even  than  the  first.  "  But 
let's  wait  a  few  minutes  longer;  he  may  come  yet," 
he  went  on;  and  after  a  little  persuasion  the  three 
consented  to  remain  half  an  hour  longer. 

At  quarter  past  three  the  office  boy  brought  word 
that  Foley  was  without.  Baxter  ordered  that  he  be 
sent  in,  but  before  the  boy  could  turn  Foley  walked 
through  the  open  door,  derby  hat  down  over  his  eyes, 
hands  in  his  trousers  pockets.  Baxter  stood  up,  and 
the  other  three  rose  slowly  after  him. 

"  Good-afternoon,  gents,"  Foley  said  carelessly, 
his  eyes  running  rapidly  from  face  to  face.  "  DT 
keep  youse  waitin'  ?  " 

"  Only  about  an  hour,"  growled  Murphy. 

"Is  that  so,  now?  Sorry.  I  always  take  a  nap 
after  lunch,  an'  I  overslep'  myself." 

Foley's  eyes  had  fixed  upon  Baxter's,  and  Baxter's 
returned  their  gaze.  For  several  seconds  the  two 
stood  looking  at  each  other  with  expressionless  faces, 
till  the  other  three  began  to  wonder.  Then  Baxter 
seemed  to  swallow  something.  "  Won't  you  please 
be  seated,  Mr.  Foley,"  he  said. 


BUSINESS  IS  BUSINESS          269 

"  Sure,"  said  Foley  in  his  first  careless  tone. 

The  five  sat  down.  Foley  again  coolly  scanned  the 
committee.  "  Well?  "  he  said. 

The  three  looked  at  Baxter  to  open  the  conversa 
tion.  He  did  not  at  once  begin,  and  Foley  took  out 
his  watch.  "  I  can  only  give  youse  a  few  minutes, 
gents.  I've  got  an  engagement  up  town  at  four.  So 
if  there's  anything  doin',  s'pose  we  don't  waste  no 
time  in  silent  prayer." 

"  We  want  to  talk  over  the  strike  with  you,"  began 
Baxter. 

"  Really.  If  I'd  known  that  now  I'd  V  brought 
the  committee  along." 

Murphy  scowled  at  this  naivete.  '  We  don't 
want  to  talk  to  your  committee." 

"  I'm  nobody  without  the  committee.  The  com 
mittee's  runnin'  the  strike." 

"  We  merely  desire  to  talk  things  over  in  a  gen 
eral  way  with  you  in  your  capacity  as  an  individual," 
said  Baxter  quickly,  to  head  off  other  remarks  from 
Murphy. 

"A  general  talk?  Huh!  Youse  talk  two  hours; 
result — youse  Ve  talked  two  hours."  He  slowly  rose 
and  took  his  hat,  covering  a  yawn  with  a  bony  hand, 
"  Interestin'.  I'd  like  it  if  I  had  the  time  to  spare. 
But  I  ain't.  Well— so-long." 

14  Hold  on !  "  cried  Baxter  hastily.  Foley  turned. 
"  We  thought  that  possibly,  as  the  result  of  our  talk, 
we  might  be  able  to  reach  some  compromise  for  the 
settlement  of  the  strike." 

u  If  youse  Ve  got  any  plans,  that's  different." 
Foley  resumed  his  chair,  resting  an  elbow  on  the  table. 


270    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  But  remember  I've  got  another  engagement,  an' 
cut  'em  short." 

There  were  five  chairs  in  the  room.  Baxter  had 
placed  his  own  with  its  back  to  the  window,  and 
Foley's  so  that  the  full  light  fell  straight  in  the  walk 
ing  delegate's  face.  His  own  face,  in  the  shadow, 
was  as  though  masked. 

Baxter  had  now  immediately  before  him  the  task 
of  opening  the  way  for  Foley  to  make  the  desired 
demand.  "  This  strike  has  been  going  on  over  five 
weeks  now,"  he  began,  watching  the  walking  dele 
gate's  face  for  any  expression  significant  that  his 
words  were  having  their  effect.  "  You  have  been 
fixed  in  your  position;  we  have  been  fixed  in  ours. 
Your  union  has  lost  about  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars.  I  won't  say  how  much  we've  lost. 
We  both  seem  to  be  as  firmly  fixed  in  our  determina 
tion  as  ever.  The  strike  may  last  all  summer.  The 
question  is,  do  we  both  want  to  keep  on  losing  money 
— indefinitely?  " 

Foley  did  not  take  the  opening.  "  That's  the 
question,"  he  said  blandly. 

It  was  a  few  seconds  before  Baxter  went  on.  "  I 
judge  that  we  do  not.  You  have " 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Foley,  rising,  "  but  I  got  weak 
eyes,  an'  this  light  hurts  'em.  Suppose  me  an'  youse 
changes  chairs."  He  calmly  stepped  over  to  Baxter's 
side  and  waited. 

There  was  nothing  for  Baxter  but  to  yield  the 
seat,  which  he  did.  Foley  sat  down,  tilted  back 
against  the  window  sill,  and  hooked  his  heels  over  a 
chair  rung. 


BUSINESS   IS   BUSINESS          271 

"  Your  union  has  perhaps  a  million  dollars  at 
stake,"  Baxter  continued  at  the  same  even  pitch. 
"  We  have — a  great  deal,  and  the  owners  stand  to 
lose  heavily.  If  by  talking  an  hour  we  can  devise  a 
plan  by  which  this  can  be  saved,  it's  worth  while,  is 
it  not?" 

"  Sure.  Speakin'  as  an  individual,  I'm  willin'  to 
talk  twice  as  long  for  half  as  much,"  Foley  drawled. 

There  was  a  silence.  The  three  men,  their  elbows 
on  the  polished  table,  looked  on  as  though  spectators 
at  a  play. 

"I  wonder  if  you  have  anything  to  propose?" 
asked  Baxter  guardedly. 

"  Me?     I  come  to  use  my  ears,  not  my  tongue." 

The  two  men  watched  each  other  narrowly.  The 
advantage,  if  there  could  be  advantage  in  the  case  of 
two  faces  under  perfect  control,  was  all  with  Foley. 
The  contractor  had  caught  no  sign  revealing  whether 
his  insinuative  words  were  having  effect. 

u  But  you  perhaps  have  thought  of  some  plan  that 
is  worth  considering,"  he  went  on. 

Foley  hesitated,  for  the  first  time.     "  Well — yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I "  He  broke  off,  and  seemed  to  listen  with 

suspicion. 

Baxter's  face  quickened — the  least  trifle.  The 
three  men  leaned  further  across  the  table,  excitement 
tugging  in  their  faces. 

4  You  are  perfectly  safe,"  Baxter  assured  him. 
"  No  one  can  hear." 

1  The  plan's  dead  simple.  But  mebbe  it's  occurred 
to  youse." 


272    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  Go  on !  "  said  Baxter.    The  men  hardly  breathed. 

"  The  quickest  way  o'  settlin'  the  strike  is  for  " — 
he  paused — "  youse  bosses  to  give  in." 

Baxter's  face  went  a  little  pale.  Something  very 
like  a  snarl  came  from  the  spectators. 

Foley  gave  a  prolonged  chuckle.  "  If  youse  '11  pay 
me  for  my  time,  I'm  willin'  to  play  tag  in  the  dark  so 
long's  the  coin  lasts.  But  if  youse  ain't,  come  to  bus 
iness,  or  I'll  go." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  returned  Baxter  blankly. 

"  Oh,  tell  the  truth  now  an'  then,  Baxter.  It  sorter 
gives  contrast  to  the  other  things  youse  say.  Youse 
understand  all  right  enough." 

Baxter  continued  his  blank  look. 

Foley  laughed  dryly.  "  Now  why  do  youse  keep 
up  that  little  game  with  me,  Baxter?  But  keep  it  up, 
if  youse  like  it?  It  don't  fool  no  one,  so  where's  the 
harm.  I  see  through  youse  all  right,  even  if  youse 
don't  understand  me." 

"Yes?" 

"  Mebbe  youse  'd  like  to  have  me  tell  youse  why 
youse  sent  for  me?  " 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  I'll  tell  then,  since  youse  don't  seem  to  want  to. 
I  only  expect  to  live  till  I'm  seventy-five,  so  I  ain't  got 
no  time  to  waste  on  your  way  o'  doin'  business." 
Tilted  at  his  ease  against  the  window  sill,  he  gave 
each  of  the  four  a  slow  glance  from  his  sharp  eyes. 
"  Well,  youse  gents  sent  for  me  to  see  if  I  wouldn't 
offer  to  sell  out  the  strike." 

This  was  hardly  the  manner  in  which  the  four  had 
expected  he  would  be  led  on  to  hold  them  up.  There 


BUSINESS  IS  BUSINESS          273 

was  a  moment  of  suppressed  disconcertment.  Then 
Baxter  remarked:  "  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are 
doing  some  very  unwarranted  guessing." 

"  I  may  be  wrong,  sure."  A  sardonic  grin  showed 
through  the  shadow-mask  on  his  face.  "  Well,  what 
did  youse  want  to  talk  to  me  about  then?  " 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  The  three  twisted  in 
uncomfortable  suspense.  Baxter  had  the  control  of 
a  bronze.  "Suppose  that  was  our  purpose?"  he 
asked  quietly.  "  What  would  you  say?  " 

"That's  pretty  fair;  youse  're  gettin'  out  where 
there's  daylight,"  Foley  approved.  "  I'd  say  youse 
was  wastin'  time.  It  can't  be  done — even  if  anybody 
wanted  it  done." 

"Why?" 

"  There's  three  thousand  men  in  the  union,  an' 
every  one  o'  them  has  a  say  in  settlin'  the  strike.  An' 
there's  five  men  on  the  strike  committee.  I  s'pose  it's 
necessary  to  tell  four  such  honest  gents  that  a  trick  o' 
this  sort's  got  to  be  turned  on  the  quiet.  Where's 
the  chance  for  quiet?  A  committee  might  fool  a 
union — yes.  But  there's  the  committee." 

Foley  looked  at  his  watch.  "  I've  got  to  move  if  I 
keep  that  engagement."  He  stood  up,  and  a  malig 
nant  look  came  over  his  face.  "  I've  give  youse  gents 
about  the  only  sort  of  a  reason  youse  're  capable  of 
appreciatin' — I  couldn't  if  I  wanted  to.  But  there's 
another — I  don't  want  to.  The  only  way  o'  settlin' 
this  strike  is  the  one  I  said  first,  for  youse  bosses  to 
give  in.  I've  swore  to  beat  youse  out,  an',  by  God, 
I'm  goin'  to  do  it!  " 

Bobbs  and  Isaac  blinked  dazedly.     Murphy  rose 


274    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

with  a  savage  look,  but  was  sent  to  his  chair  by  a 
glance  from  Baxter.  Save  for  that  glance,  Foley's 
words  would  have  made  no  more  change  on  Baxter's 
face  than  had  it  indeed  been  of  bronze. 

"  When  youse  're  ready  to  give  in,  gents,  send  for 
me,  an'  I'll  come  again.  Till  then,  damn  youse, 
good-by !  " 

As  his  hand  was  on  the  knob  Baxter's  even  voice 
reached  him:  "  But  suppose  a  man  could  fool  the 
committee?  " 

Foley  turned  slowly  around.      'What?" 

"  Suppose  a  man  could  fool  the  committee?  " 

"  What  youse  drivin'  at?  " 

"  Suppose  a  man  could  fool  the  committee?  " 

Foley's  eyes  were  of  blazing  intentness.  "  It  can't 
be  done." 

"  I  know  of  only  one  man  who  could  do  it." 

"Who?" 

"  I  think  you  can  guess  his  name." 

Foley  came  slowly  back  to  his  chair,  with  a  gaze 
that  fairly  clutched  Baxter's  face.  "  Don't  youse  fool 
with  me !  "  he  snarled. 

Baxter  showed  nothing  of  the  angler's  excitement 
who  feels  the  fish  on  his  hook.  "  Suppose  a  man 
could  fool  the  committee?  What  would  you  say?  " 

Foley  held  his  eyes  in  piercing  study  on  Baxter's 
face.  "See  here,  are  youse  talkin'  business?"  he 
demanded. 

"  Suppose  I  say  I  am." 

The  shadow  could  not  hide  a  wolf-like  gleam  of 
Foley's  yellow  teeth.  "  Then  I  might  say,  '  I'll 
listen.' " 


BUSINESS   IS   BUSINESS          275 

"  Suppose  a  man  could  fool  the  committee,"  Baxter 
reiterated.  "What  would  you  say?" 

"  S'pose  I  was  to  say,  '  how'  ?  " 

Baxter  felt  sure  of  his  catch.  Throwing  cautious 
speech  aside,  he  outlined  the  plan  of  his  business 
sense,  Foley  watching  him  the  while  with  unshifting 
gaze,  elbows  on  knees,  hands  gripped.  "  Negotia 
tions  between  your  committee  and  ours  might  be 
resumed.  You  might  be  defiant  for  one  or  two  meet 
ings  of  the  two  committees.  You  might  still  be  defiant 
in  the  meetings,  but  you  might  begin  to  drop  a  few 
words  of  doubt  on  the  outside.  They  will  spread,  and 
have  their  effect.  You  can  gradually  grow  a  little 
weaker  in  your  declarations  at  the  meetings  and  a  little 
stronger  in  your  doubts  expressed  outside.  Some 
things  might  happen,  harmless  in  themselves,  which 
would  weaken  the  union's  cause.  Then  you  might 
begin  to  say  that  perhaps  after  all  it  would  be  better 
to  go  back  to  work  on  the  old  scale  now,  than  to  hold 
out  with  the  possibility  of  having  to  go  back  at  the 
old  scale  anyhow  after  having  lost  a  summer's  work. 
And  so  on.  In  three  weeks,  or  even  less,  you  would 
have  the  union  in  a  mood  to  declare  the  strike  off." 

Foley's  gaze  dropped  to  the  rug,  and  the  four 
waited  his  decision  in  straining  suspense.  The  walk 
ing  delegate's  mind  quickly  ran  over  all  the  phases  of 
this  opportunity  for  a  fortune.  None  of  the  four 
men  present  would  tell  of  the  transaction,  since,  if 
they  did,  they  would  be  blackened  by  their  own  words. 
To  the  union  and  all  outside  persons  it  would  seem 
nothing  more  than  a  lost  strike.  The  prestige  he 
would  lose  in  the  union  would  be  only  temporary;  he 


276    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

could  regain  it  in  the  course  of  time.  Other  walking 
delegates  had  lost  strikes  and  kept  their  places  as 
leaders. 

Even  Baxter  had  begun  to  show  signs  of  nervous 
strain  when  Foley  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  hesita 
tingly  at  the  three  men.  Every  man  was  one  more 
mouth,  so  one  more  danger. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Baxter. 

"  I  ain't  used  to  doin'  business  with  more'n  one 


man." 


"  Oh,  we're  all  on  the  level,"  growled  Murphy. 
"  Come  out  with  it." 

"  Well,  then,  I  say  yes— with  an  '  if  V 

"  And  the   'if  '  ?  "  queried  Baxter. 

"  If  the  price  is  right." 

"  What  do  you  think  it  should  be?  " 

Foley  studied  the  men's  faces  from  beneath  low 
ered  eyebrows.  "  Fifty  thousand." 

This  was  the  sum  Baxter  had  mentioned  the  after 
noon  before.  But  Isaacs  cried  out,  "What!  " 

"That— or  nothing!" 

41  Half  that's  enough,"  declared  Murphy. 

Foley  sneered  in  Murphy's  face.  "  As  I  happen 
to  know,  twenty-five  thousand  is  just  what  youse  got 
for  workin'  in  the  Board  o'  Aldermen  for  the  Lin 
coln  Avenue  Traction  Franchise.  Good  goods 
always  comes  higher." 

The  alderman's  red  face  paled  to  a  pink.  But 
Baxter  cut  in  before  he  could  retort.  ;<  We  won't 
haggle  over  the  amount,  Mr.  Foley.  I  think  we 
can  consider  the  sum  you  mention  as  agreed  upon." 

Foley's  yellow  teeth  gleamed  again.     Fie  summed 


BUSINESS   IS   BUSINESS          277 

up  his  terms  concisely:  "  Fifty  thousand,  then.  Paid 
in  advance.  No  checks.  Cash  only." 

"  Pay  you  in  advance !  "  snorted  Murphy.  "  Well 
I  rather  guess  not!  " 

"Why?" 

"Well — we  want  somethin'  for  our  money!" 

Foley's  face  grew  dark.  "  See  here,  gents. 
We've  done  a  little  quiet  business  together,  all  of 
us.  Now  can  any  one  o'  youse  say  Buck  Foley  ever 
failed  to  keep  his  part  o'  the  agreement?  " 

The  four  had  to  vindicate  his  honor.  But  never 
theless,  for  their  own  reason,  they  seemed  unwilling 
to  pay  now  and  trust  that  he  would  do  the  work;  and 
Foley,  for  his  reason,  seemed  unwilling  to  do 
the  work  and  trust  that  they  would  pay.  After 
much  discussion  a  compromise  was  reached:  the 
money  was  to  be  paid  by  Baxter  in  the  morning  of 
the  day  on  which  the  union  would  vote  upon  the 
strike;  the  committee  could  then  feel  certain  that 
Foley  would  press  his  measure  through,  for  he  would 
have  gone  too  far  to  draw  back;  and  Foley,  if  pay 
ment  should  not  be  made,  could  still  balk  the  fulfill 
ment  of  the  plan. 

When  this  agreement  had  been  reached  Baxter 
was  ready  with  another  point.  "  I  believe  it  would 
be  wise  if  all  our  future  dealings  with  Mr.  Foley 
should  be  in  the  open,  especially  my  dealings  with 
him.  If  we  were  seen  coming  from  an  apparently 
secret  meeting,  and  recognized — as  we  might  be,  for 
we  are  both  known  to  many  people — suspicions 
might  be  aroused  and  our  plan  defeated." 

The  four  gave  approval  to  the  suggestion. 


278    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

At  five  o'clock  all  was  settled,  and  Foley  rose  to 
go.  He  looked  irresolutely  at  Baxter  for  a  moment, 
then  said  in  a  kind  of  grudging  admiration:  "  I've 
never  give  youse  credit,  Baxter.  I  knew  youse  was 
the  smoothest  thing  in  the  contractin'  business,  but 
I  never  guessed  youse  was  this  deep." 

For  an  instant  Baxter  had  a  fear  that  he  would 
again  have  to  shake  a  great  hairy  hand.  But  Foley's 
tribute  did  not  pass  beyond  words. 


Chapter  XXV 
IN   WHICH    FOLEY   BOWS   TO    DEFEAT 


minute  after  Foley  had  gone  Mr. 
Baxter  was  talking  over  the  telephone 
to  the  secretary  of  the  Conciliation  Com- 
mittee  of  the  Civic  Federation.  "  We 
have  considered  your  offer  to  try  to  bring  our 
committee  and  the  committee  of  the  ironworkers 
together,''  he  said.  u  We  are  willing  to  reopen 
negotiations  with  them."  A  letter  would  have  been 
the  proper  and  more  dignified  method  of  communica 
tion.  But  this  was  the  quicker,  and  to  Mr.  Baxter 
a  day  was  worth  while. 

The  secretary  believed  in  the  high  mission  of  his 
committee,  and  was  enthusiastic  to  make  a  record  for 
it  in  the  avoidance  of  strikes  and  assistance  in  their 
settlement.  So  he  laid  down  the  telephone  receiver 
and  called  for  a  stenographer.  Within  twenty 
minutes  a  messenger  left  his  office  bearing  a  letter  to 
Foley. 

When  Foley  got  home,  an  hour  after  leaving  Mr. 
Baxter's  office,  his  wife  handed  him  the  letter.  It 
read: 

MY  DEAR  MR.  FOLEY: 

Mr.  Baxter,  speaking  for  the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Iron 
Employers'  Association,  has  signified  their  willingness  to  meet  your 
committee  and  again  discuss  possible  measures  for  the  ending  of 
the  strike.  Notwithstanding  the  barrenness  of  previous  meetings  I 

279 


280    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

sincerely  hope  your  committee  will  show  the  same  willingness  to 
resume  negotiations.  Permit  me  to  urge  upon  your  attention  the 
extreme  seriousness  of  the  present  situation:  the  union,  the  con 
tractors,  the  owners,  all  losing  money,  the  public  discommoded  by 
the  delay  in  the  completion  of  buildings;  all  these  demand  that 
your  two  committees  get  together  and  in  a  spirit  of  fairness  reach 
some  agreement  whereby  the  present  situation  will  be  brought  to 
an  end. 

Our  rooms  are  at  the  service  of  your  two  committees.  As  time  is 
precious  I  have  secured  Mr.  Baxter's  consent,  for  his  committee,  to 
meet  you  here  at  palf-past  two  to-morrow  afternoon.  I  hope  this  will 
suit  you.  If  not,  a  later  date  can  be  arranged. 

Though  his  appetite  and  dinner  were  both  ready, 
Foley  put  on  his  hat  and  went  to  the  home  of 
Connelly.  The  secretary  was  just  sitting  down  to 
his  own  dinner. 

"  I  just  happened  to  be  goin'  by,"  said  Foley,  "  an' 
I  thought  I'd  run  in  an'  show  youse  a  letter  I  got 
to-day."  He  drew  out  the  letter  and  handed  it  to 
Connelly. 

Foley  chatted  with  Mrs.  Connelly  while  the  letter 
was  being  read,  but  all  the  time  his  eyes  were  watch 
ing  its  effect  upon  Connelly.  When  he  saw  the  end 
had  been  reached,  he  remarked:  "It  don't  amount 
to  nothin'.  I  guess  we  might  as  well  write  'em  to  go 
to  hell." 

Connelly  hesitated.  It  usually  took  more  than  a 
little  courage  to  express  a  view  contrary  to  Foley's. 
"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  doubtfully.  "  Baxter  knows 
how  we  stand.  It  strikes  me  if  he  offers  to  talk 
things  over  with  us,  that  means  he  realizes  he's  licked 
an'  is  willin'  to  make  concessions." 

"  Um !     Maybe  youse  're  right." 

Encouraged  by  this  admission  Connelly  went  on* 


FOLEY    BOWS  TO   DEFEAT     281 

"  It  might  be  worth  our  while  to  meet  'em,  anyhow. 
Suppose  nothin'  does  come  of  it,  what  have  we  lost?  " 

Foley  looked  half-convinced.  '  Well,  mebbe  our 
committee  might  as  well  talk  the  letter  over." 

41  Sure  thing." 

"  I  suppose  then  we  ought  to  get  together  to-night. 
If  we  get  word  to  the  other  three  boys,  we've  got  to 
catch  'em  at  dinner.  Can  youse  see  to  that?  " 

Connelly  looked  regretfully  at  his  untasted  meal. 
"  I  guess  I  can." 

"  All  right.     In  your  office  then,  say  at  eight." 

The  five  men  were  in  the  office  on  time,  though 
Connelly,  to  make  it,  had  to  content  himself  with 
what  he  could  swallow  in  a  few  minutes  at  a  quick 
lunch  counter.  The  office  was  a  large,  square  room, 
a  desk  in  one  corner,  a  few  chairs  along  the  sides,  a 
great  cuspidor  in  the  center;  at  the  windows  were 
lace  curtains,  and  on  one  wall  was  a  full-length  mirror 
in  a  gilt  frame — for  on  nights  when  Potomac  Hall 
was  let  for  weddings,  receptions,  and  balls,  Connel 
ly's  office  had  over  its  door,  "  Ladies'  Dressing 
Room." 

The  five  men  lit  cigars,  Foley's  cigars,  and  drew 
chairs  around  the  cuspidor,  which  forthwith  began 
to  bear  the  relation  of  hub  to  their  frequent  salivary 
spokes.  "  Connelly  told  youse  about  the  letter  from 
the  Civic  Federation,  that's  gettin'  so  stuck  on  runnin' 
God's  business  they'll  soon  have  him  chased  off  his 
job,"  Foley  began.  u  But  I  guess  I  might  as  well 
read  the  letter  to  youse." 

'  Take  the  offer,  o'  course !  "  declared  Pete,  when 
Foley  had  ended. 


282    THE  WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  Connelly  joined. 

Hogan  and  Brown,  knowing  how  opposed  Foley 
was  to  the  proposition,  said  nothing. 

'l  WeVe  wasted  enough  time  on  the  bosses'  com 
mittee,"  Foley  objected.  "  No  use  talkin'  to  'em 
again  till  we've  put  'em  down  an'  out." 

'*  The  trouble  with  you,  Foley,  is,  you  like  a  fight 
so  well  you  can't  tell  when  you've  licked  your  man," 
said  Pete  in  an  exasperated  tone.  "  What's  the  use 
punchin'  a  man  after  he's  give  in?" 

"  We've  got  'em  licked,  or  they'd  never  ask  to 
talk  things  over,"  urged  Connelly. 

Foley  looked  in  scowling  meditation  at  his  cigar 
ash.  Then  he  raised  his  eyes  to  Brown  and  Hogan. 
"  What  do  youse  think?  " 

Thus  directly  questioned;  they  had  to  admit  they 
stood  with  Pete  and  Connelly. 

"  Oh,  well,  since  we  ain't  workin',  I  suppose  we 
won't  be  wastin'  much  if  we  do  chin  a  bit  with  'em," 
he  conceded.  But  the  four  easily  perceived  that  he 
merely  yielded  to  their  majority,  did  not  agree. 

The  next  afternoon  Foley  and  his  committee  were 
led  by  the  secretary  of  the  Conciliation  Committee 
into  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  Civic  Federation's  suite, 
where  Mr.  Baxter  and  his  committee  were  already  in 
waiting.  The  secretary  expressed  a  hope  that  they 
arrive  at  an  understanding,  and  withdrew  in  exulta 
tion  over  this  example  of  the  successful  work  his 
committee  was  doing. 

There  was  a  new  member  on  the  employers'  com 
mittee — Mr.  Herman.  Mr.  Baxter,  exercising  the 
power  vested  in  him  to  fill  vacancies  temporarily,  had 


FOLEY   BOWS  TO   DEFEAT     283 

chosen  Mr.  Berman  as  Mr.  Driscoll's  successor  for 
two  reasons:  his  observations  of  Mr.  Berman  had 
made  him  certain  the  latter  had  elastic  ideas;  and, 
more  important,  for  Mr.  Driscoll's  own  partner  to 
take  the  vacant  place  would  quiet  all  suspicions  as  to 
the  cause  of  Mr.  Driscoll's  unexpected  resignation. 
Of  the  five,  Bobbs  and  Isaacs  were  rather  self-con 
scious;  Murphy,  who  had  had  previous  experience  in 
similar  situations,  wore  a  large,  blustering  manner; 
Berman,  for  all  his  comparative  inexperience,  was 
most  promisingly  at  his  ease;  and  Baxter  was  the 
Baxter  he  was  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  the 
year. 

The  strikers'  committee  presented  the  confident 
front  of  expected  victory.  Foley,  slipped  far  down 
in  his  chair,  eyed  the  contractors  with  a  sideling,  inso 
lent  glance. 

"  If  this  here's  to  be  another  o'  them  hot  air  festi 
vals,  like  we  attended  in  April  an'  May,  say  so  now," 
he  growled.  "  We  ain't  got  no  time  for  talkin'  unless 
youse  mean  business." 

Connelly,  whose  chair  was  beside  Foley's,  leaned 
over  anxiously.  "  Don't  you  think  you're  goin'  at 
'em  pretty  rough,  Buck?"  he  whispered.  "If  you 
get  'em  mad,  they'll  go  right  back  to  where  they 
stood." 

"  Oh,  youse  leave  'em  to  me,"  Foley  returned 
knowingly. 

It  would  serve  no  purpose  to  give  the  details  of 
this  meeting.  Mr.  Baxter,  ignoring  Foley's  inso 
lence  of  manner,  outlined  in  well-balanced  sentences 
the  reasons  that  made  it  imperative  to  both  sides  for 


284    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

the  strike  to  be  settled,  and  then  went  on  to  give  anew 
the  contractors'  side  of  the  questions  at  issue.  Now 
and  then  Foley  broke  in  with  comments  which  were 
splenetic  outbursts  rather  than  effective  rejoinders. 
When  the  meeting  was  over  and  his  committee  was 
out  in  the  street,  Foley  shed  his  roughly  defiant  man 
ner.  "  Boys,"  he  said  with  quiet  confidence,  "  we've 
got  'em  beat  to  death." 

The  next  afternoon  was  occupied  with  a  debate 
between  Mr.  Baxter  and  Foley  upon  their  respective 
claims.  Foley's  tongue  was  as  sharp  as  ever,  but  his 
fellow  committeemen  had  to  acknowledge  to  their 
secret  hearts  there  was  more  of  convincing  substance 
in  what  Mr.  Baxter  said.  They  wondered  somewhat 
at  the  sudden  declension  in  the  effectiveness  of  their 
leader's  speech,  which  perhaps  they  would  not 
have  done  had  they  been  parties  to  a  conference  that 
morning  at  which  Foley  had  pointed  out  to  Mr.  Bax 
ter  the  vulnerable  spots  in  the  union's  claims,  and 
schooled  him  in  the  most  telling  replies  to  the  state 
ments  he,  Foley,  intended  making. 

After  the  meeting  Foley  again  declared  his  cer 
tainty  of  winning,  but  there  was  a  notable  decrease 
of  confidence  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  Connelly,  without  much  spirit.  "  But 
Baxter,  he  puts  up  a  good  talk." 

"  He  seems  to  have  facts  to  talk  from,"  explained 
Brown. 

"  So  have  we,"  said  Foley. 

"  Yes,  but  somehow  at  the  meetin's  his  facts  seem 
stronger,"  said  Connelly. 

"  Oh,  what  o'  that,"  Foley  returned  encouragingly. 


FOLEY    BOWS  TO   DEFEAT     285 

"  More'n  once  in  poker  I've  seen  a  strong  bluff  win 
over  a  strong  hand." 

The  next  meeting  was  a  repetition  of  the  second. 
Foley  was  keen  in  his  wit,  and  insolently  defiant;  but 
Mr.  Baxter  got  the  better  of  every  argument.  The 
union's  committee  began  to  admit,  each  man  to  him 
self,  that  their  position  was  weaker,  and  the  contrac 
tors'  much  stronger,  than  they  had  thought. 

And  so,  day  by  day,  Foley  continued  to  undermine 
their  confidence.  So  skillfully  did  he  play  his  part, 
they  never  guessed  that  he  was  the  insinuating  cause 
of  their  failing  courage;  more,  his  constant  encourage 
ment  made  them  ashamed  to  speak  of  their  sinking 
spirit. 

But  on  the  fifth  day,  at  a  consultation  in  Connelly's 
office,  it  came  out.  There  had  been  an  hour  of  talk, 
absolutely  without  a  touch  of  enthusiasm,  when  Con 
nelly,  who  had  been  looking  around  at  the  men's  faces 
for  some  time,  said  with  an  effort:  "  On  the  level 
now,  boys,  d'you  think  we've  got  any  chance  o' 
winnin'?  " 

Foley  swore.  "What's  that?"  he  demanded. 
"Why  o'  course  we're  goin'  to  win!  " 

But  Connelly's  words  had  their  effect;  the  silence 
broken,  the  men  spoke  hesitatingly  of  the  growing 
doubts  they  had  been  trying  to  hide.  Foley  stood  up. 
"  Boys,  if  youse  're  goin'  to  talk  this  kind  o'  rot, 
youse  Ve  got  to  talk  it  without  me,"  he  said,  and 
went  out. 

Foley  gone,  they  spoke  freely  of  their  doubts;  and 
they  also  talked  of  him.  "  D'you  notice  how  the 
ring's  all  gone  out  o'  his  voice?  "  asked  Brown. 


286    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  I  bet  he  ain't  got  no  more  confidence  than  any  o1 
the  rest  of  us,"  said  Pete. 

"  I  bet  so,  too,"  agreed  Connelly.  "  He  talks  big 
just  to  cheer  us  up.  Then  it's  mighty  hard  for  Buck 
to  give  up.  He'll  always  fight  to  his  last  drop  o' 
blood." 

The  decline  of  the  committee's  enthusiasm  had 
already  begun  to  have  a  disquieting  effect  in  the 
union.  It  now  rapidly  spread  that  the  committee 
had  little  confidence  of  winning  the  strike,  and  that 
Foley,  for  all  his  encouraging  words,  believed  at 
heart  as  did  the  rest  of  the  committee. 

The  first  meeting  of  the  union  after  the  resumption 
of  negotiations  was  a  bitter  one.  The  committee 
made  a  vague  report,  in  which  Foley  did  not  join, 
that  made  apparent  their  fallen  courage.  Immedi 
ately  questioning  men  were  on  their  feet  all  over  the 
hall,  Tom  among  them.  The  committee,  cornered 
by  queries,  had  to  admit  publicly  that  it  had  no  such 
confidence  as  it  had  had  a  week  before.  The  rea 
sons  for  this  were  demanded.  No  more  definite  rea 
son  could  be  given  than  that  the  bosses  were  stronger 
in  their  position  than  the  union  had  believed. 

There  were  sneers  and  hot  words  for  the  four 
members  who  participated  in  the  report.  Cries  went 
up  for  Foley,  who  had  thus  far  kept  out  of  the  dis 
cussion;  and  one  voice,  answering  the  cries,  shouted: 
"  Oh,  he's  lost  his  nerve,  too,  the  same  as  the  others !  " 

Foley  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  looking  over 
the  excited  crowd.  "  If  any  man  here  has  heard  me 
say  I'm  for  givin'  in,  let  him  get  up  on  his  two  feet !  " 

No  one  stood  up.    "  I  guess  youse  all  know  I'm 


FOLEV   BOWS  TO   DEFEAT     287 

for  fightin'  as  long's  there's  anything  worth  fightin' 
for,"  he  declared,  and  sank  back  into  his  seat. 

But  there  had  been  no  wrath  in  his  eyes  as  he  had 
looked  over  the  crowd,  and  no  ferocity  in  his  words 
of  vindication.  The  whisper  ran  about  that  it  was 
true,  he  was  losing  his  nerve.  And  if  Foley,  Foley 
the  fighter,  were  losing  confidence,  then  the  situation 
must  indeed  be  desperate. 

The  courage  of  a  large  body  of  men,  especially  of 
one  loosely  organized,  is  the  courage  of  its  leaders. 
Now  that  it  was  known  the  committee's  confidence 
was  well-nigh  gone,  and  guessed  that  Foley's  was 
going,  the  courage  of  the  men  ebbed  rapidly.  It 
began  to  be  said:  "  If  there's  no  chance  of  winning 
the  strike,  why  don't  we  settle  it  at  once,  and  get 
back  to  work?  "  And  the  one  who  spoke  loudest  and 
most  often  in  this  strain  was  Johnson. 

Two  days  after  the  meeting  Foley  had  a  con 
ference  with  Mr.  Baxter,  at  which  the  other  mem 
bers  of  the  union's  committee  were  not  present.  And 
that  same  night  there  was  another  explosion  in  one 
of  Mr.  Baxter's  buildings  that  chanced  to  be  un 
guarded.  The  explosion  was  slight,  and  small  dam 
age  was  done,  but  a  search  discovered  two  charges  of 
dynamite  in  the  foundation,  with  fuses  burned  almost 
to  the  fulminating  caps. 

If  the  dynamite  did  not  explode,  the  newspapers 
did.  The  perpetrators  of  this  second  outrage,  which 
only  fate  had  prevented,  should  be  hunted  down  and 
made  such  an  example  of  as  would  be  an  eternal  warn 
ing  against  like  atrocities.  The  chief  of  police  should 
apprehend  the  miscreants  at  whatever  cost,  and  the 


288    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

district  attorney  should  see  that  they  had  full  jus 
tice — and  perhaps  a  little  more. 

The  chief  of  police,  for  his  part,  declared  he'd 
have  the  guilty  parties  if  it  took  his  every  man  to 
run  them  down.  But  his  men  searched,  days  passed, 
and  the  waiting  cells  remained  empty. 

Mr.  Baxter,  interviewed,  said  it  was  obvious  that 
the  union  was  now  determined  to  stop  at  nothing  in 
its  efforts  to  drive  the  contractors  into  submission. 
The  union,  at  a  special  meeting,  disclaimed  any 
responsibility  for  the  attempted  outrage,  and  inti 
mated  that  this  was  a  scheme  of  the  contractors  them 
selves  to  blacken  the  union's  character.  When  a  re 
porter  "  conveyed  this  intelligence  to  Mr.  Baxter, 
that  gentleman  only  smiled."  i 

The  chief  result  of  this  second  explosion  was  that 
so  much  as  remained  to  the  union  of  public  sympathy 
was  lost  in  what  time  it  took  the  public  to  read  its 
morning  paper.  Had  a  feeling  of  confidence  pre 
vailed  in  the  union,  instead  of  one  of  growing  doubt, 
this  charge  might  have  incited  the  union  to  resistance 
all  the  stouter.  But  the  union,  dispirited  over  the 
weakness  of  its  cause,  saw  its  cause  had  been  yet 
further  weakened,  and  its  courage  fled  precipitately. 

Three  days  after  the  explosion  there  was  another 
joint  meeting  of  the  two  committees.  At  this  Mr. 
Baxter,  who  had  before  been  soft  courtesy,  was  all 
ultimatum.  The  explosion  had  decided  them.  They 
would  not  be  intimidated;  they  would  not  make  a 
single  concession.  The  union  could  return  to  work 
on  the  old  terms,  if  it  liked;  if  not,  they  would  fight 
till  there  was  nothing  more  to  fight  with,  or  for. 


FOLEY   BOWS  TO   DEFEAT     289 

Foley,  with  much  bravado,  gave  ultimatum  for 
ultimatum;  but  when  his  committee  met,  immediately 
after  leaving  the  employers',  to  consider  Mr.  Baxter's 
proposition,  he  sat  in  gloomy  silence,  hardly  heeding 
what  was  being  said.  As  they  talked  they  turned 
constantly  to  Foley's  somber  face,  and  looking  at  that 
face  their  words  became  more  and  more  discouraged. 

Finally  Pete  asked  of  him :  "  Where  d'you  stand, 
Buck?" 

He  came  out  of  his  reverie  with  a  start.  "  I'm 
against  givin'  up,"  he  said.  "  Somethin'  may  turn 
up  yet." 

"What's  the  use  holdin'  on?"  demanded  Con 
nelly.  "  We're  bound  to  be  licked  in  the  end.  Every 
day  we  hold  out  the  men  lose  a  day's  pay." 

Foley  glanced  sadly  about.  "  Is  that  what  youse 
all  think?" 

There  were  four  affirmative  answers. 

"  Well,  I  ain't  goin'  to  stand  out " 

He  broke  off,  and  his  face  fell  forward  into  his 
palm,  and  he  was  silent  for  a  long  space.  The  four 
watched  him  in  wordless  sympathy. 

u  Boys,"  he  said,  huskily,  into  his  hand,  "  this's 
the  first  time  Buck  Foley's  ever  been  licked." 


Chapter  XXVI 
PETERSEN'S    SIN 

first  news  of  the  committee's  failing 
confidence  that  reached  Tom's  ears  he 
discredited  as  being  one  of  the  rumors  that 
are  always  flying  about  when  large  powers 
are  vested  in  a  small  body  of  men.  That  the  strike 
could  fail  was  too  preposterous  for  his  belief.  But 
when  the  committee  was  forced  to  admit  in  open  meet 
ing  that  its  courage  was  waning,  Tom,  astounded,  had 
to  accept  what  but  yesterday  he  had  discredited.  He 
thought  immediately  of  treachery  on  Foley's  part, 
but  in  his  hot  remarks  to  the  union  he  made  no  men 
tion  of  his  suspicions;  he  knew  the  boomerang  quality 
of  an  accusation  he  could  not  prove.  Later,  when  he 
went  over  the  situation  with  cool  brain,  he  saw  that 
treachery  was  impossible.  Granting  even  that  Foley 
could  be  bought,  there  was  the  rest  of  the  committee, 
— and  Pete,  on  whose  integrity  he  would  have  staked 
his  own,  was  one  of  its  members. 

And  yet,  for  all  that  reason  told  him,  a  vague  and 
large  suspicion  persisted  in  his  mind.  A  few  days 
after  the  meeting  he  had  a  talk  with  Pete,  during 
which  his  suspicion  got  into  words.  "  Has  it  oc 
curred  to  you,  Pete,  that  maybe  Foley  is  up  to  some 
deep  trick?  "  he  asked. 

*  You're  away  off,  Tom !  "  was  the  answer,  given 
with  some  heat.    "  I  ain't  missed  a  single  committee 

290 


PETERSEN'S  SIN  291 

meetin',  an'  I  know  just  where  Foley  stands.  It's  the 
rest  of  us  that're  sorter  peterin'  out.  Buck's  the 
only  one  that's  standin'  out  for  not  givin'  in.  Mebbe 
he's  not  above  dumpin'  us  all  if  he  had  the  chance. 
But  he  couldn't  be  crooked  here  even  if  he  wanted  to. 
We're  too  many  watchin'  him." 

All  this  Tom  had  said  to  himself  before,  but  his 
saying  it  had  not  dispelled  his  suspicion,  and  no 
more  did  the  saying  of  it  now  by  Pete.  The  negotia 
tions  seemed  all  open  and  above  board;  he  could  not 
lay  his  finger  on  a  single  flaw  in  them.  But  yet  the 
strike  seemed  to  him  to  have  been  on  too  solid  a 
basis  to  have  thus  collapsed  without  apparent  cause. 

At  the  union  meeting  following  the  committee  con 
ference  where  Foley  had  yielded,  a  broken  man,  the 
advisability  of  abandoning  the  strike  came  up  for 
discussion.  Foley  sat  back  in  his  chair,  with  overcast 
face,  and  refused  to  speak.  But  his  words  to  the 
committee  had  gone  round,  and  now  his  gloomy 
silence  was  more  convincing  in  its  discouragement 
than  any  speech  could  have  been.  Tom,  whose  mind 
could  not  give  up  the  suspicion  that  there  was  trick 
ery,  even  though  he  could  not  see  it,  had  a  despairing 
thought  that  if  action  could  be  staved  off  time 
might  make  the  flaw  apparent.  He  frantically  op 
posed  the  desire  of  a  portion  of  the  members  that  the 
strike  be  given  up  that  very  evening.  Their  defeat 
was  not  difficult;  the  union  was  not  yet  ready  for  the 
step.  It  was  decided  that  the  matter  should  come  up 
for  a  vote  at  the  following  meeting. 

While  Tom  was  at  breakfast  the  next  morning 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Maggie  answered  it, 


292    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

and  he  heard  a  thin  yet  resonant  voice  that  he  seemed 
to  have  heard  before,  inquire:  "  Is  Mr.  Keating  in?  " 

He  stepped  to  the  door.  In  the  dim  hallway  he 
saw  indistinctly  a  small,  thin  woman  with  a  child  in 
her  arms.  "  Yes,"  he  answered  for  himself. 

"  Don't  you  remember  me,  Brother  Keating?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  glad  note  in  her  voice,  shifting  the 
child  higher  on  her  breast  and  holding  out  a  hand. 

"  Mrs.  Petersen !  "  he  cried.    "  Come  right  in." 

She  entered,  and  Tom  introduced  her  to  Maggie, 
who  drew  a  chair  for  her  up  beside  the  breakfast 
table. 

"  Thank  you,  sister."  She  sank  exhausted  into  the 
chair,  and  turned  immediately  on  Tom.  "  Have  you 
seen  Nels  lately?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Not  for  more  than  two  weeks." 

The  excitement  died  out  of  her  face;  Tom  now 
saw,  by  the  light  of  the  gas  that  had  to  be  burned  in 
the  dining-room  even  at  midday,  that  the  face  was 
drawn  and  that  there  were  dark  rings  under  the  eyes. 
u  Is  anything  wrong?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  ain't  been  home  for  two  nights,"  she  returned 
tremulously.  "  I  said  to  myself  last  night,  if  he  don't 
come  to-night  I'll  come  over  to  see  you  early  this 
morning.  Mebbe  you'd  know  something  about  him." 

"  Not  a  thing."  He  wanted  to  lighten  that  wan 
face,  so  he  gave  the  best  cheer  that  he  could.  "  But 
I  guess  nothing's  wrong  with  him." 

"  Yes,  there  is,  or  he'd  never  stay  away  like  this," 
she  returned  quickly.  Her  voice  sank  with  resigna 
tion.  "  I  suppose  all  I  can  do  is  to  pray." 

"  And  look,"  Tom  added.    "  I'll  look." 


PETERSEN'S  SIN  293 

She  rose  to  go.  Maggie  pressed  her  to  have  break 
fast,  but  she  refused,  a  faint  returning  hope  in  her 
eyes.  "  Mebbe  the  Lord's  brung  him  home  while 
IVe  been  here." 

A  half  minute  after  the  door  had  closed  upon  her 
Tom  opened  it  and  hurried  down  the  three  flights  of 
stairs.  He  caught  her  just  going  into  the  street. 

He  fumbled  awkwardly  in  his  pocket.  "  Do  you 
need  anything?  " 

"  No.  Bless  you,  Brother  Keating.  Nels  left  me 
plenty  o'  money.  You  know  he  works  reg'lar  on  the 
docks." 

Two  causes  for  Petersen's  absence  occurred  as  pos 
sible  to  Tom — arrest  and  death.  He  looked  through 
the  record  of  arrests  for  the  last  two  days  at  police 
headquarters.  Petersen's  name  was  not  there,  and 
to  give  a  false  name  would  never  have  occurred  to 
Petersen's  slow  mind.  So  Tom  knew  he  was  not  in 
a  cell.  He  visited  the  public  morgues  and  followed 
attendants  who  turned  back  sheets  from  cold  faces. 
But  Petersen's  face  he  did  not  see. 

The  end  of  the  day  brought  also  the  end  of 
Tom's  search.  He  now  had  three  explanations  for 
Petersen's  absence:  The  Swede  was  dead,  and  his 
body  unrecovered;  he  had  wandered  off  in  a  fit  of 
mental  aberration;  he  had  deserted  his  wife.  The 
first  he  did  not  want  to  believe.  The  third,  remem 
bering  the  looks  that  had  passed  between  the  two  the 
night  he  had  visited  their  home,  he  could  not  believe. 
He  clung  to  the  second;  and  that  was  the  only  one  he 
mentioned  to  Mrs.  Petersen  when  he  called  in  the 
evening  to  report. 


294    THE    WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  He'll  come  to  suddenly,  and  come  back,"  he  en 
couraged  her.  ''  That's  the  way  with  such  cases." 

"  You  think  so?  "    She  brightened  visibly. 

A  fourth  explanation  flashed  upon  him.  "  Perhaps 
he  got  caught  by  accident  on  some  boat  he  had  been 
helping  load,  and  got  carried  away." 

She  brightened  a  little  more  at  this.  "  Just  so  he's 
alive!  "  she  cried. 

"  He'll  be  certain  to  be  back  in  a  few  days,"  Tom 
said  positively.  He  left  her  greatly  comforted  by 
his  words,  though  he  himself  did  not  half  believe 
them. 

There  was  nothing  more  he  could  do  toward  dis 
covering  the  missing  man.  It  must  be  admitted  that, 
during  the  next  few  days,  he  thought  of  Petersen 
much  less  frequently  than  was  the  due  of  such  a 
friend  as  the  Swede  had  proved.  The  affairs  of  the 
union  held  his  mind  exclusively.  Opinion  was  turn 
ing  overwhelmingly  toward  giving  up  the  strike,  and 
giving  it  up  immediately.  Wherever  there  was  a 
man  who  still  held  out,  there  were  three  or  four  men 
pouring  words  upon  him.  u  Foley  may  not  be  so 
honest  as  to  hurt  him,  but  he's  a  fighter  from  'way 
back,  an'  if  he  thinks  we  ought  to  stop  fightin'  now, 
then  we  ought  to  'a'  stopped  weeks  ago  " — such  was 
the  substance  of  the  reasoning  in  bar-room  and  street 
that  converted  many  a  man  to  yielding. 

And  also,  Tom  learned,  a  quick  settlement  was 
being  urged  at  home.  As  long  as  the  men  had  stood 
firm  for  the  strike,  the  women  had  skimped  at  every 
point  and  supported  that  policy.  But  when  they 
discovered  that  the  men's  courage  was  going,  the 


PETERSEN'S   SIN  295 

women,  who  feel  most  the  fierce  economy  of  a  strike, 
were  for  the  straight  resumption  of  work  and  income. 
Maggie,  Tom  knew,  was  beginning  to  look  forward 
in  silent  eagerness  to  a  settlement;  he  guessed  that 
she  hoped,  the  strike  ended,  he  might  go  back  to 
work  untroubled  by  Foley. 

Tom  undertook  to  stand  out  against  the  pro 
posal  of  submission,  but  he  might  as  well  have  tried 
to  shoulder  back  a  Fundy  tide.  Men  remembered 
it  was  he  who  had  so  hotly  urged  them  into  a  strike 
that  thus  far  had  cost  them  seven  weeks'  wages.  "  I 
suppose  you'd  have  us  lose  seven  more  weeks' 
money,"  they  sneered  at  him.  They  said  other 
things,  and  stronger,  for  your  ironworker  has  studied 
English  in  many  places. 

Monday  evening  found  Tom  in  a  chair  at  one  of 
the  open  windows  of  his  sitting-room,  staring  out  at 
nothing  at  all,  hardly  conscious  of  Maggie,  who 
was  reading,  or  of  Ferdinand,  who  lay  dozing  on  the 
couch.  He  was  completely  discouraged — at  the 
uttermost  end  of  things.  He  had  searched  his  mind 
frantically  for  flaws  in  the  negotiations  and  in  Foley's 
conduct,  flaws  which,  if  followed  up,  clue  by  clue, 
would  reveal  Foley's  suspected  treachery.  But  ha 
found  none.  There  seemed  nothing  more  he  could 
do.  The  vote  would  come  on  Wednesday  evening, 
and  its  result  was  as  certain  as  if  the  count  had 
already  been  made. 

And  so  he  sat  staring  into  the  line  of  back  yards 
with  their  rows  and  rows  of  lighted  windows.  His 
mind  moved  over  the  past  five  months.  They  had 
held  nothing  for  him  but  failure  and  pain.  He 


296    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

had  fought  for  honor  in  the  management  of  the 
union's  affairs,  staking  his  place  in  his  trade  on  the 
result — and  honor  in  the  contest  with  dishonesty 
had  gone  down  in  defeat.  He  had  urged  the  union 
to  strike  for  better  wages,  and  now  the  strike  was  on 
the  eve  of  being  lost.  He  would  have  to  begin  life 
over  anew,  and  he  did  not  know  where  he  could 
begin.  Moreover,  he  had  lost  all  but  a  few  friends; 
and  he  had  lost  all  influence.  This  was  what  his 
fight  for  right  had  brought  him,  and  in  five  months. 

And  this  was  not  the  sum  of  the  bitterness  the  five 
months  had  brought  him — no,  nor  its  greater  part. 
He  had  learned  how  mighty  real  love  can  be — and 
how  hopeless ! 

He  had  been  sitting  so,  dreaming  darkly,  for  an 
hour  or  more  when  Maggie  asked  him  if  he  had 
heard  whether  Petersen  had  come  back.  The  ques 
tion  brought  to  his  mind  that  he  had  neglected  Mrs. 
Petersen  for  four  days.  He  rose,  conscience-smit 
ten,  told  Maggie  he  would  be  back  presently,  and 
set  forth  for  the  tenement  in  which  the  Petersens 
had  their  home.  He  found  Mrs.  Petersen,  her  child 
asleep  in  her  lap,  reading  the  Bible.  She  appeared 
to  be  even  slighter  and  paler  than  when  he  had  last 
seen  her,  but  her  spirit  seemed  to  burn  even  higher 
through  the  lessened  obscuration  of  her  thinning 
flesh. 

No,  Petersen  had  not  yet  come  back.  "  But  I 
fetched  my  trouble  to  God  in  prayer,"  she  said. 
"  An'  He  helped  me,  glory  to  His  name !  He  told  me 
Nels  is  comin'  back." 

Tom  had  nothing  to  give  to  one  so  fired  by  hope, 


PETERSEN'S  SIN  297 

and  he  slipped  away  as  soon  as  he  could  and  returned 
home.  On  entering  his  flat,  his  eyes  going  straight 
through  the  dining-room  into  the  sitting-room,  he  saw 
Maggie  gazing  in  uncomfortable  silence  at  a  man — 
a  lean,  brown  man,  with  knobby  face,  and  wing-like 
mustache,  who  sat  with  bony  hands  in  his  lap  and 
eyes  fastened  on  his  knees. 

Tom  crossed  the  dining-room  with  long  strides. 
Maggie,  glad  of  the  chance  to  escape,  passed  into  the 
bedroom. 

"  Petersen !  "  he  cried.  "  Where  on  earth  Ve  you 
been?" 

Petersen  rose  with  a  glad  light  in  his  face  and 
grasped  the  hand  Tom  offered.  Immediately  he 
disengaged  his  hand  to  slip  it  into  a  trousers  pocket. 
Tom  now  noted  that  Petersen's  face  was  slightly 
discolored, — dim  yellows,  and  greens,  and  blues — 
and  that  his  left  thumb  was  brown,  as  though  stained 
with  arnica. 

"  I  come  to  pay  vot  I  loan,"  Petersen  mumbled. 
His  hand  came  forth  from  the  pocket  grasping  a 
roll  of  bills  as  big  as  his  wrist.  He  unwrapped  three 
tens  and  silently  held  them  out. 

Tom,  who  had  watched  this  action  through  with 
dumb  amazement,  now  broke  out:  "Where  d'you 
get  all  that  money?  Where  Ve  you  been?  " 

The  three  tens  were  still  in  Petersen's  outstretched 
hand.  "  For  vot  you  give  de  union,  and  vot  you  give 


me." 


"  But  where've  you  been?  "  Tom  demanded,  tak 
ing  the  money. 

Fear,  shame,  and  contrition  struggled  for  control 


298    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

of  Petersen's  face.  But  he  answered  doggedly:  "  I 
vorked  at  de  docks." 

"  You  know  that's  not  so,  Petersen.  You  haven't 
been  home  for  a  week.  And  your  wife's  scared  half 
to  death." 

"Anna  scared?  Vy?"  He  started,  and  his 
brown  face  paled. 

'Why  shouldn't  she  be?"  Tom  returned  wrath- 
fully.  '  You  went  off  without  a  word  to  her,  and 
not  a  word  from  you  for  a  week!  Now  see  here, 
Petersen,  where' ve  you  been?" 

'  Vorkin'  at  de  docks,"  he  repeated,  but  weakly. 

"And  got  that  wad  of  money  for  it!  Hardly." 
He  pushed  Petersen  firmly  back  into  his  chair. 
"  Now  you've  got  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

All  the  dogged  resistance  faded  from  Petersen's 
manner,  and  he  sat  trembling,  with  face  down.  For 
a  moment  Tom  was  in  consternation  lest  he  break 
into  tears.  But  he  controlled  himself  and  in  shame 
told  his  story,  aided  by  questions  from  Tom.  Tom 
heard  him  without  comment,  breathing  rapidly  and 
gulping  at  parts  of  the  brokenly-told  story. 

When  the  account  was  ended  Tom  gripped  Peter- 
sen's  hand.  "You're  all  right,  Petersen!"  he  said 
huskily. 

Tears  trickled  down  from  Petersen's  eyes,  and  his 
simple  face  twitched  with  remorse. 

Tom  fell  into  thought.  He  understood  Petersen's 
fear  to  face  his  wife.  He,  too,  was  uncertain  how 
Mrs.  Petersen,  in  her  religious  fervor,  would  regard 
what  Petersen  had  done.  He  had  to  tell  her,  of 
course,  since  Petersen  had  shown  he  could  not.  But 


PETERSEN'S  SIN  299 

how  should    he  tell    her — how,  so    that  the  woman, 
and  not  the  religious  enthusiast,  would  be  reached? 

Presently  Tom  handed  Petersen  his  hat,  and 
picked  up  his  own.  "  Come  on,"  he  said;  and  to 
Maggie  he  called  through  the  bedroom  door:  "  I'll 
be  back  in  an  hour." 

As  they  passed  through  the  tunnel  Tom,  who  had 
slipped  his  hand  through  Petersen's  arm  for  gui 
dance,  felt  the  Swede  begin  to  tremble;  and  it  was 
so  across  the  little  stone-paved  court,  with  the  square 
of  stars  above,  and  up  the  nervous  stairway,  whose 
February  odors  had  been  multiplied  by  the  June 
warmth.  Before  his  own  door  Petersen  held  back. 

Tom  understood.  "  Wait  here  for  me,  then,"  he 
said,  and  knocked  upon  the  door. 

"  Who's  there?  "  an  eager  voice  questioned. 

"  Keating." 

When  she  answered,  the  eagerness  in  the  voice 
had  turned  to  disappointment.  "  All  right,  Brother 
Keating.  In  just  a  minute." 

Tom  heard  the  sounds  of  rapid  dressing,  and  then 
a  hand  upon  the  knob.  Petersen  shrank  back  into 
the  darkness  of  a  corner. 

The  door  opened.  "  Come  in,  Brother  Keating," 
she  said,  not  quite  able  to  hide  her  surprise  at  this 
second  visit  in  one  evening. 

A  coal  oil  lamp  on  the  kitchen  table  revealed  the 
utter  barrenness  and  the  utter  cleanness — so  far  as 
unmonied  effort  could  make  clean  those  scaling  walls 
and  that  foot-hollowed  floor — which  he  had  seen  on 
his  first  visit  five  months  before.  He  was  hardly 
within  the  door  when  her  quick  eyes  caught  the  strain 


300    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

in  his  manner.  One  thin  hand  seized  his  arm  excit 
edly.  "  What  is  it,  brother?  Have  you  heard  from 
Nels?" 

"  Ye-es,"  Tom  admitted  hesitatingly.  He  had  not 
planned  to  begin  the  story  so. 

"And  he's  alive?    Quick!    He's  alive?" 

"  Yes." 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  clasped  both  hands  over  her 
heart,  and  turned  her  eyes  upward.  u  Praise  the 
Lord!  I  thank  Thee,  Lord!  I  knew  Thou  wouldst 
keep  him." 

Immediately  her  wide,  burning  eyes  were  back  on 
Tom.  "Where  is  he?" 

"  He's  been  very  wicked,"  said  Tom,  shaking  his 
head  sadly,  and  lowering  himself  into  the  only  other 
chair.  "  So  wicked  he's  afraid  you  can  never  forgive 
him.  And  I  don't  see  how  you  can.  He's  afraid  to 
come  home." 

"  God  forgives  everything  to  the  penitent,  an'  I 
try  to  follow  after  God,"  she  said,  trembling.  A  sick 
ening  fear  was  on  her  face.  '*  Tell  me,  brother ! 
What's  he  done?  Don't  try  to  spare  me!  God  will 
help  me  to  bear  it.  Not — not — murder?" 

"  No.  He's  fallen  in  another  way,"  Tom  re 
turned,  with  the  sad  shake  of  his  head  again. 
"Shall  I  tell  you  all?" 

"  All,  brother !  An'  quickly !  "  She  leaned  toward 
him,  hands  gripped  in  the  lap  of  her  calico  wrapper, 
with  such  a  staring,  fearing  attention  as  seemed  to 
stand  out  from  her  gray  face  and  be  of  itself  a  sep 
arate  presence. 

"I'll  have  to  tell  you  some  things  you  know  al- 


PETERSEN'S  SIN  301 

ready,  and  know  better  than  I  do,"  Tom  said,  watch 
ing  to  see  how  his  words  worked  upon  her.  "  After 
Petersen  got  in  the  union  he  held  a  job  for  two 
weeks.  Then  Foley  knocked  him  out,  and  then  came 
the  strike.  It's  been  eleven  weeks  since  he  earned  a 
cent  at  his  trade.  The  money  he'd  made  in  the 
two  weeks  he  worked  soon  gave  out.  He  tried  to 
find  work  and  couldn't.  Days  passed,  and  weeks. 
They  had  little  to  eat  at  home.  I  guess  they  had  a 
pretty  hard  time  of  it.  He " 

"We  did,  brother!" 

"  He  saw  his  wife  and  kid  falling  off — getting 
weaker  and  weaker,"  Tom  went  on,  not  heeding  the 
interruption.  "He  got  desperate;  he  couldn't  see 
'em  starve.  Now  the  devil  always  has  temptation 
ready  for  a  desperate  man.  About  four  weeks  ago 
when  his  wife  was  so  weak  she  could  hardly  move, 
and  there  wasn't  a  bite  in  the  house,  the  devil  tempted 
Petersen.  He  happened  to  meet  a  man  who  had 
been  his  partner  in  his  old  wicked  days,  his  manager 
when  he  was  a  prize  fighter.  The  manager  said  it 
was  too  bad  Petersen  had  left  the  ring;  he  was 
arranging  a  heavy-weight  bout  to  come  off  before  a 
swell  athletic  club  in  Philadelphia,  a  nice  purse  for 
the  loser  and  a  big  fat  one  for  the  winner.  They 
walked  along  the  street  together  for  awhile,  and  all 
the  time  the  devil  was  tempting  Petersen,  saying  to 
him :  '  Go  in  and  fight — this  once.  It's  right  for  a 
man  to  do  anything  rather  than  let  his  wife  and  kid 
starve.'  But  Petersen  held  out,  getting  weaker  all 
the  time,  though.  Then  the  devil  said  to  him :  '  He's 
a  pretty  poor  sort  of  a  man  that  loves  his  promise  not 


302    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

to  fight  more  than  he  loves  his  wife  and  kid.'  Peter- 
sen  fell.  He  decided  to  commit  the  sin." 

Tom  paused  an  instant,  then  added  in  a  hard  voice : 
"  But  because  a  man  loves  his  wife  so  much  he's  will 
ing  to  do  anything  for  her,  that  don't  excuse  the  sin, 
does  it?" 

"  Go  on !  "  she  entreated,  leaning  yet  further 
toward  him. 

"  Well,  he  said  to  the  manager  he'd  fight.  They 
settled  it,  and  the  man  advanced  some  money.  Pet- 
ersen  went  into  training.  But  he  was  afraid  to  tell 
us  what  an  awful  thing  he  was  doing, — doing  because 
he  didn't  want  his  wife  to  starve, — and  so  he  told  us 
he  was  working  at  the  docks.  So  it  was  for  three 
weeks,  and  his  wife  and  kid  had  things  to  eat.  The 
fight  came  off  last  Wednesday  night " 

"And  who  won?    Who?" 

"  Well— Petersen." 

"  Yes !  Of  course !  "  she  cried,  exultation  for  the 
moment  possessing  her  face.  "  He  is  a  terrible 
fighter!  He " 

She  broke  off  and  bowed  her  head  with  sudden 
shame;  when  it  came  up  the  next  instant  she  wore 
again  the  tense  look  that  seemed  the  focus  of  her 
being. 

Tom  had  gone  right  on.  "  It  was  a  hard  fight. 
He  was  up  against  a  fast  hard  hitter.  But  he  fought 
better  than  he  ever  did  before.  I  suppose  he  was 
thinking  of  his  wife  and  kid.  He  won,  and  got  the 
big  purse.  But  after  the  fight  was  over,  he  didn't 
dare  come  home.  His  face  was  so  bruised  his  wife 
would  have  known  he'd  been  fighting, — and  he 


PETERSEN'S  SIN  303 

knew  It  would  break  her  heart  for  her  to  know  he'd 
been  at  it  again.  And  so  he  thought  he'd  stay  away 
till  his  face  got  well.  She  needn't  ever  have  the 
pain  then  of  knowing  how  he'd  sinned.  He  never 
even  thought  how  worried  she'd  be  at  not  hearing 
from  him.  So  he  stayed  away  till  his  face  got  well, 
almost — till  to-night.  Then  he  came  back,  and 
slipped  up  to  his  door.  He  wanted  to  come  in,  but 
he  was  still  afraid.  He  listened  at  the  door.  His 
wife  was  praying  for  him,  and  one  thing  he  heard 
was,  she  asked  God  to  keep  him  wherever  he  was 
from  wrong-doing.  He  knew  then  he'd  have  to  tell 
her  all  about  it,  and  he  knew  how  terrible  his  sin 
would  seem  to  her.  He  knew  she  could  never  for 
give  him.  So  he  slipped  down  the  stairs,  and  went 
away.  Of  course  he  was  right  about  what  his  wife 
would  think,"  Tom  drove  himself  on  with  implacable 
voice.  "  I  didn't  come  here  to  plead  for  him.  I 
don't  blame  you.  It  was  a  terrible  sin,  a  sin " 

She  rose  tremblingly  from  her  chair,  and  raised  a 
thin  authoritative  hand.  "  Stop  right  there, 
brother!"  she  cried,  her  voice  sob-broken.  "It 
wasn't  a  sin.  It — it  was  glorious!  " 

Tom  sprang  toward  the  door.  "  Petersen !  "  he 
shouted.  He  flung  it  open,  and  the  next  instant 
dragged  Petersen,  shrinking  and  eager,  fearful, 
shamefaced,  and  yet  glowing,  into  the  room. 

"  Oh,  Nelsl^'  She  rushed  into  his  arms,  and  their 
mighty  length  tightened  about  the  frail  body.  "  It — 
was — glorious — Nels!  It " 

But  Tom  heard  no  more.  He  closed  the  door 
and  groped  down  the  shivering  stairway. 


Chapter   XXVII 
THE    THOUSANDTH    CHANCE 

R.  DRISCOLL  was  the  chairman  of  the 
building  committee  of  a  little  indepen 
dent  church  whose  membership  was  in 
clined  to  regard  him  somewhat  dubiously, 
notwithstanding  the  open  liking  of  the  pastor.  The 
church  was  planning  a  new  home,  and  of  late  the 
committee  had  been  holding  frequent  meetings.  In 
the  afternoon  of  this  same  Monday  there  had  been 
a  session  of  the  committee;  and  on  leaving  the  pas 
tor's  study  Mr.  Driscoll  had  hurried  to  his  office, 
but  Ruth,  whom  he  had  pressed  into  service  as  the 
committee's  secretary,  had  stopped  to  perform  a  num 
ber  of  errands.  When  she  reached  the  office  she 
walked  through  the  open  hall  door — the  weather 
was  warm,  so  it  had  been  wide  all  day — over  the 
noiseless  rug  to  her  desk,  and  began  to  remove  her 
hat.  Voices  came  to  her  from  Mr.  Driscoll's  room, 
Mr.  Driscoll's  voice  and  Mr.  Herman's;  but  their 
first  few  sentences,  on  business  matters,  passed  her 
ears  unheeded,  like  the  thousand  noises  of  the  street. 
But  presently,  after  a  little  pause,  Mr.  Berman 
remarked  upon  a  new  topic:  "Well,  it's  the 
same  as  settled  that  the  strike  will  be  over  in  two 
days." 

Almost  unconsciously  Ruth's  ears  began  to  take 
304 


THE   THOUSANDTH   CHANCE     305 

in  the  words,  though  she  continued  tearing  the  sheets 
of  stamps,  one  of  her  purchases,  into  strips,  prepara 
tory  to  putting  them  away. 

"  Another  case  in  which  right  prevails,"  said  Mr. 
Driscoll,  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice. 

"  Why,  yes.    We  are  altogether  in  the  right." 

"  And  so  we  win."  Silence.  Then,  abruptly,  and 
with  more  sarcasm:  "  But  how  much  are  we  paying 
Foley?" 

Ruth  started,  as  when  amid  the  street's  thousand 
noises  one's  own  name  is  called  out.  She  gazed 
intently  at  the  door,  which  was  slightly  ajar. 

Silence.    "What?    You  know  that?  " 

u  Why  do  you  suppose  I  left  the  committee?  " 

"  I  believed  what  you  said,  that  you  were  tired 
of  it." 

"  Um !  So  they  never  told  you.  Since  you're  a 
member  of  the  committee  I'm  breaking  no  pledge  in 
telling  you  where  I  stand.  I  left  when  they  proposed 
buying  Foley " 

Mr.  Herman  made  a  hushing  sound. 

"  Nobody  '11  hear.  Miss  Arnold's  out.  Besides,  I 
wouldn't  mind  much  if  somebody  did  hear,  and  give 
the  whole  scheme  away.  How  you  men  can  stand 
for  it  is  more  than  I  know." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  Mr.  Berman  returned  easily. 

The  talk  went  on,  but  Ruth  listened  for  no  more. 
She  hastily  pinned  on  her  hat,  passed  quietly  into  the 
hall,  and  caught  a  descending  elevator.  After  a  walk 
about  the  block  she  came  back  to  the  office  and  moved 
around  with  all  the  legitimate  noise  she  could  make. 
Mr.  Driscoll's  door  softly  closed. 


306    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Berman  came  out  and,  door 
knob  in  hand,  regarded  her  a  moment  as  she  sat  at 
her  desk  making  a  pretense  of  being  at  work.  Then 
he  crossed  the  room  with  a  rare  masculine  grace  and 
bent  above  her. 

"  Miss  Arnold,"  he  said. 

Ruth  rarely  took  dictation  from  Mr.  Berman,  but 
she  now  reached  for  her  note-book  in  instinctive 
defense  against  conversation.  "  Some  work  for  me  ?  " 
She  did  not  look  up. 

"  Something  for  you  to  make  a  note  of,  but  no 
work,"  he  returned  in  his  low,  well-modulated  voice 
that  had  seemed  to  her  the  very  vocalization  of  gen- 
tlemanliness.  "  I  remember  the  promise  you  made 
me  give — during  business  hours,  only  business.  But 
I  have  been  looking  for  a  chance  all  day  to  break  it. 
I  want  to  remind  you  again  that  the  six  months  are 
up  to-morrow  night." 

u  Yes.     My  answer  will  be  ready." 

He  waited  for  her  to  say  something  more,  but 
she  did  not;  and  he  passed  on  to  his  own  room. 

Ruth  had  two  revelations  to  ponder;  but  it  was 
to  the  sudden  insight  she  had  been  given  into  the 
real  cause  of  the  contractors'  approaching  victory 
that  she  gave  her  first  thought,  and  not  to  the  sud 
den  insight  into  the  character  of  Mr.  Berman. 
From  the  first  minute  there  was  no  doubt  as  to  what 
she  should  do,  and  yet  there  was  a  long  debate  in 
her  mind.  If  she  were  to  give  Tom  the  bare  fact 
that  had  been  revealed  to  her,  and,  using  it  as  a  clue, 
he  were  to  uncover  the  whole  plan,  there  would  come 
a  disgraceful  exposure  involving  her  uncle,  her  em- 


THE   THOUSANDTH   CHANCE     307 

ployers,  and,  to  a  degree,  all  the  steel  contractors. 
And  another  sentiment  threw  its  influence  against 
disclosing  her  information:  her  natural  shrinking 
from  opening  communication  with  Tom;  ^nd  mixed 
with  this  was  a  remnant  of  her  resentment  that  he 
had  treated  her  so.  She  had  instinctively  placed 
him  beside  Mr.  Herman,  and  had  been  compelled  to 
admit  with  pain:  "  Mr.  Berman  would  never  have 
done  it." 

But  her  sense  of  right  was  of  itself  enough  to 
have  forced  her  to  make  the  one  proper  use  of  the 
information  chance  had  given  her;  and  besides  this 
sense  of  right  there  was  her  love,  ready  for  any 
sacrifice.  So  she  covertly  scribbled  the  following 
note  to  Tom : 

MY  DEAR  MR.  KEATING: 

Are  you  sure  Mr.  Foley  is  not  playing  the  union  false? 

RUTH  ARNOLD. 
He  is. 

With  curious  femininity  she  had,  at  the  last 
moment,  tried  to  compromise,  suggesting  enough  by 
her  question  to  furnish  a  clue  to  Tom,  and  yet 
saying  so  little  that  she  could  tell  herself  she  had 
really  not  betrayed  her  friends;  and  then,  in  two 
words,  she  had  impulsively  flung  him  all  her 
knowledge. 

The  note  written,  she  thought  of  the  second  revela 
tion;  of  the  Mr.  Berman  she  had  really  liked  so  well 
for  his  aesthetic  taste,  for  his  irreproachable  gentle- 
manliness,  for  all  the  things  Tom  was  not.  "  Oh,  it's 
all  right,"  he  had  said  easily.  And  she  placed  him 


308    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

beside  Tom,  and  admitted  with  pain-adulterated 
happiness:  "Mr.  Keating  would  never  have  done 
that." 

When  her  work  for  the  day  was  over  she  hurried 
to  the  postoffice  in  Park  Row.  and  dropped  the 
letter  into  the  slot  marked  "  Special  Delivery." 
And  when  Tom  came  back  from  his  second  call  at 
the  Petersen  home  Maggie  was  awaiting  him  with 
it.  At  sight  of  the  handwriting  on  the  envelope  the 
color  left  his  face.  He  tore  open  the  envelope  with 
an  eagerness  he  tried  to  conceal  in  an  assumed  care 
lessness,  and  read  the  score  of  words. 

When  he  looked  up  from  the  note,  Maggie's  eyes 
were  fastened  on  his  face.  A  special  delivery  letter 
had  never  come  to  their  home  before.  "  What  is 
it?  "  she  asked. 

"  Just  a  note  about  the  strike,"  he  answered,  and 
put  the  letter  into  his  pocket. 

The  explanation  did  not  satisfy  Maggie,  but,  as 
it  was  far  past  their  bedtime,  she  turned  slowly  and 
went  into  the  bedroom. 

"  I'm  not  coming  to  bed  for  a  little  while,"  he 
called  to  her. 

The  next  minute  he  was  lost  in  the  excitement 
begotten  by  the  letter.  It  was  true,  then,  what  he 
had  suspected.  Ruth,  he  knew,  would  never  have 
written  the  note  unless  she  had  been  certain.  His 
head  filled  with  a  turmoil  of  thoughts — every  third 
one  about  Ruth;  but  these  he  tried  to  force  aside, 
for  he  was  face  to  face  with  a  crisis  and  needed  all 
his  brain.  And  some  of  his  thoughts  were  appalling 
ones  that  the  union  was  so  perilously  near  its  betrayal; 


THE   THOUSANDTH    CHANCE     309 

and  some  were  exultant,  that  he  was  right  after  all. 
But  amid  this  mental  turmoil  one  thought,  larger  than 
any  of  the  others,  with  wild  steadfastness  held  the 
central  place  of  his  brain:  there  was  a  chance  that, 
even  yet,  he  could  circumvent  Foley  and  save  the 
union — that,  fallen  as  low  as  he  was,  he  might  yet 
triumph. 

But  by  what  plan?  He  was  more  certain  than  ever 
of  Foley's  guilt,  but  he  could  not  base  a  denunciation 
of  Foley  upon  mere  certitude,  unsupported  by  a  single 
fact.  He  had  to  have  facts.  And  how  to  get  them  ? 
One  wild  plan  after  another  acted  itself  out  as  a  play 
in  his  excited  brain,  in  which  he  had  such  theatric 
parts  as  descending  accusingly  upon  Mr.  Baxter  and 
demanding  a  confession,  or  cunningly  trapping  Foley 
into  an  admission  of  the  truth,  or  gaining  it  at  point 
of  pistol.  As  the  hours  passed  his  brain  quieted  some 
what,  and  he  more  quickly  saw  the  absurdity  of 
schemes  of  this  sort.  But  he  could  find  no  practicable 
plan,  and  a  frantic  fear  began  to  possess  him:  the 
meeting  was  less  than  two  days  off,  and  as  yet  he  saw 
no  effective  way  of  balking  the  sale  of  the  strike. 

He  sat  with  head  on  the  table,  he  lay  on  the  couch, 
he  softly  paced  the  floor;  and  when  the  coming  day 
sent  its  first  dingy  light  into  the  back  yards  and  into 
the  little  sitting-room  he  was  still  without  a  feasible 
scheme.  A  little  later  he  turned  down  the  gas  and 
went  into  the  street.  He  came  back  after  two  hours, 
still  lacking  a  plan,  but  quieter  and  with  better  con 
trol  of  his  mind. 

"I  suppose  you  settled  the  strike  last  night?" 
said  Maggie,  who  was  preparing  breakfast. 


3io    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

"  I  can  hardly  say  I  did,"  he  returned  abstractedly. 

She  did  not  immediately  follow  up  her  query,  but 
in  a  few  minutes  she  came  into  the  sitting-room  where 
Tom  sat.  Determination  had  marked  her  face  with 
hard  lines.  "  You're  planning  something,"  she  began. 
"  And  it's  about  the  strike.  It  was  that  letter  that 
kept  you  up  all  night.  Now  you're  scheming  to  put 
off  settling  the  strike,  ain't  you?" 

u  Well, — suppose  I  am?  "  he  asked  quietly.  He 
avoided  her  eyes,  and  looked  across  at  the  opposite 
windows  that  framed  instant-long  pictures  of  hurrying 
women. 

"  I  know  you  are.  I've  been  doing  some  thinking, 
too,  while  you  were  out  this  morning,  and  it  was  an 
easy  guess  for  me  to  know  that  when  you  thought  all 
night  you  weren't  thinking  about  anything  else  except 
how  you  could  put  off  ending  up  the  strike." 

One  thing  that  his  love  for  Ruth  had  shown  Tom 
was  that  mental  companionship  could,  and  should, 
exist  between  man  and  wife;  and  one  phase  of  his 
gentleness  with  Maggie  was  that  latterly  he  had 
striven  to  talk  to  her  of  such  matters  as  formerly  he 
had  spoken  of  only  out  of  his  own  home. 

'  Yes,  you're  right;  I  am  thinking  what  you  say," 
he  began,  knowing  he  could  trust  her  with  his  pre 
cious  information.  "  But  you  don't  understand,  Mag 
gie.  I  am  thinking  how  I  can  defeat  settling  the 
strike  because  I  know  Foley  is  selling  the  union  out." 

Incredulity  smoothed  out  a  few  of  Maggie's  hard 
lines.  "  You  can  prove  it?  " 

u  I  am  going  to  try  to  get  the  facts." 

"How?" 


THE   THOUSANDTH   CHANCE     311 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  had  to  admit,  after  a  pause. 

She  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  the  hard  lines  came 
back.  "  Another  crazy  plan.  You  lose  the  best  job 
you  ever  had.  You  try  to  beat  Foley  out  as  walking 
delegate,  and  get  beat.  You  start  a  strike;  it's  the 
same  as  lost.  You  push  yourself  into  that  Avon  busi 
ness — and  you're  only  out  on  bail,  and  we'll  never  live 
down  the  disgrace.  You've  ruined  us,  and  disgraced 
us,  and  yet  you  ain't  satisfied.  Here  you  are  with 
another  scheme.  And  what  are  you  going  on?  Just 
a  guess,  nothing  else,  that  Foley's  selling  out!  " 

Tom  took  it  all  in  silence. 

"  Now  you  listen  to  me !  "  Her  voice  was  fiercely 
mandatory,  yet  it  lacked  something  of  its  old-time 
harshness;  Tom's  gentleness  had  begun  to  rouse  its 
like  in  her.  "  Everything  you've  tried  lately  has  been 
a  failure.  You  know  that.  Now  don't  make  us  any 
worse  off  than  we  are — and  you  will  if  you  try  another 
fool  scheme.  For  God's  sake,  let  the  strike  be  settled 
and  get  back  to  work!  " 

"  I  suppose  you  think  you're  right,  Maggie.  But 
— you  don't  understand,"  he  returned  helplessly. 

1  Yes,  I  do  understand,"  she  said  grimly.  "  And  I 
not  only  think  I'm  right,  but  I  know  I'm  right. 
Who's  been  right  every  time?  " 

Tom  did  not  answer  her  question,  and  after  looking 
down  on  him  a  minute  longer,  she  said,  "  You  remem 
ber  what  I've  just  told  you,"  and  returned  to  the  prep 
aration  of  breakfast. 

As  soon  as  he  had  eaten  Tom  escaped  into  the 
street  and  made  for  the  little  park  that  had  once  been 
a  burying-ground.  Here  his  mind  set  to  work  again. 


312    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

It  was  more  orderly  now,  and  soon  he  was  proceeding 
systematically  in  his  search  for  a  plan  by  the  method 
of  elimination.  Plan  after  plan  was  discarded  as 
the  morning  hurried  by,  till  he  at  length  had  this  left 
as  the  only  possibility,  to  follow  Baxter  and  Foley 
every  minute  during  this  day  and  the  next.  But 
straightway  he  saw  the  impossibility  of  this  only  pos 
sible  plan:  he  and  any  of  his  friends  were  too  well 
known  by  Foley  to  be  able  to  shadow  him,  even  had 
they  the  experience  to  fit  them  for  such  work.  A  few 
minutes  later,  however,  this  impossibility  was  gone. 
He  could  hire  detectives. 

He  turned  the  plan  over  in  his  mind.  There  was, 
perhaps,  but  one  chance  in  a  thousand  the  detectives 
would  discover  anything — perhaps  hardly  that.  But 
this  fight  was  his  fight  for  life,  and  this  one  chance 
was  his  last  chance. 

At  noon  a  private  detective  agency  had  in  its  safe 
Petersen's  thirty  dollars  and  a  check  for  the  greater 
part  of  Tom's  balance  at  the  bank. 


Chapter  XXVIII 
THE    EXPOSURE 

arrangement  with  the  detective 
agency  was  that  Baxter  and  Foley  were  to 
be  watched  day  and  night,  and  that  he 
was  to  have  as  frequent  reports  as  it  was 
possible  to  give.  Just  before  six  o'clock  that  same 
afternoon  he  called  at  the  office  for  his  first  report. 
It  was  ready — a  minute  account  of  the  movements 
of  the  two  men  between  one  and  five.  There  was 
absolutely  nothing  in  it  of  value  to  him,  except  that 
its  apparent  completeness  was  a  guarantee  that  if 
anything  was  to  be  found  the  men  on  the  case  would 
find  it. 

Never  before  in  Tom's  life  had  there  been  as  many 
hours  between  an  evening  and  a  morning.  He  dared 
not  lessen  his  suspense  and  the  hours  by  discussing  his 
present  move  with  friends;  they  could  not  help  him, 
and,  if  he  told  them,  there  was  the  possibility  that 
some  word  might  slip  to  Foley  which  would  rouse 
suspicion  and  destroy  the  thousandth  chance.  But -at 
length  morning  came,  and  at  ten  o'clock  Tom  was  at 
the  detective  agency.  Again  there  was  a  minute  re 
port,  the  sum  of  whose  worth  to  him  was — nothing. 

He  went  into  the  street  and  walked,  fear  and  sus 
pense  mounting  higher  and  higher.  In  ten  hours  the 
union  would  meet  to  decide,  and  as  yet  he  had  no  bit 

313 


3i4    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

of  evidence.  At  twelve  o'clock  he  was  at  the  office 
again.  There  was  nothing  for  him.  Eight  more 
hours.  At  two  o'clock,  dizzy  and  shaking  from  sus 
pense,  he  came  into  the  office  for  the  third  time  that 
day.  A  report  was  waiting. 

He  glanced  it  through,  then  trying  to  speak  calmly, 
said  to  the  manager:  "Send  anything  else  to  my 
house." 

Tom  had  said  to  himself  that  he  had  one  chance  in 
a  thousand.  But  this  was  a  miscalculation.  His 
chance  had  been  better  than  that,  and  had  been  made 
so  by  Mr.  Baxter's  shrewd  arrangement  for  his  deal 
ings  with  Foley,  based  upon  his  theory  that  one  of  the 
surest  ways  of  avoiding  suspicion  is  to  do  naturally 
and  openly  the  thing  you  would  conceal.  Mr.  Bax 
ter's  theory  overlooked  the  possibility  that  suspicion 
might  already  be  roused  and  on  watch. 

Tom  did  not  look  at  the  sheet  of  paper  in  the  hall 
way  or  in  the  street;  with  three  thousand  union  men  in 
the  street,  all  of  whom  knew  him,  one  was  likely  to 
pounce  upon  him  at  any  minute  and  gain  his  secret 
prematurely.  With  elation  hammering  against  his 
ribs,  he  hurried  through  a  cross  street  toward  the 
little  park,  which  in  the  last  five  months  had  come  to 
be  his  study.  The  sheet  of  paper  was  buttoned 
tightly  in  his  coat,  but  all  the  time  his  brain  was  read 
ing  a  few  jerky  phrases  in  the  detail-packed  report. 

In  the  park,  and  on  a  bench  having  the  seclusion  of 
a  corner,  he  drew  the  report  from  his  pocket  and  read 
it  eagerly,  several  times.  Here  was  as  much  as  he 
had  hoped  for — evidence  that  what  he  had  suspected 
was  true.  With  the  few  relevant  facts  of  the  report 


THE   EXPOSURE  315 

as  a  basis  he  began  to  reconstruct  the  secret  proceed 
ings  of  the  last  three  weeks.  At  each  step  he  tested 
conjectures  till  he  found  the  only  one  that  perfectly 
fitted  all  the  known  circumstances.  Progress  from 
the  known  backward  to  the  unknown  was  not  difficult, 
and  by  five  o'clock  the  reconstruction  was  complete. 
He  then  began  to  lay  his  plans  for  the  evening. 

Tom  preferred  not  to  face  Maggie,  with  her  de 
mands  certain  to  be  repeated,  so  he  had  his  dinner  in  a 
restaurant  whose  only  virtue  was  its  cheapness.  At 
half  past  seven  he  arrived  at  Potomac  Hall,  looking 
as  much  his  usual  self  as  he  could.  He  passed  with 
short  nods  the  groups  of  men  who  stood  before  the 
building — some  of  whom  had  once  been  his  sup 
porters,  but  who  now  nodded  negligently — and 
entered  the  big  bar-room.  There  were  perhaps  a 
hundred  men  here,  all  talking  loudly;  but  compara 
tively  few  were  drinking  or  smoking — money  was  too 
scarce.  He  paused  an  instant  just  within  the  door 
and  glanced  about.  The  men  he  looked  for  were  not 
there,  and  he  started  rapidly  across  the  room. 

"Hello,  Keating!  How's  your  strike?"  called 
one  of  the  crowd,  a  man  whom,  two  months  before,  he 
himself  had  convinced  a  strike  should  be  made. 

u  Eat-'Em-Up  Keating,  who  don't  know  when  he's 
had  enough !  "  shouted  another,  with  a  jeer. 

"Three  cheers  for  Keating!  "  cried  a  third,  and 
led  off  with  a  groan.  The  three  groans  were  given 
heartily,  and  at  their  end  the  men  broke  into  laughter. 

Tom  burned  at  these  crude  insults,  but  kept  straight 
on  his  way. 

There  were  also  friends  in  the  crowd, — a   few. 


316    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

When  the  laughter  died  down  one  cried  out :  "  What's 
the  matter  with  Keating?  "  The  set  answer  came, 
"  He's  all  right !  " — but  very  weak.  It  was  followed 
by  an  outburst  of  groans  and  hisses. 

As  Tom  was  almost  at  the  door  the  stub  of  a  cigar 
struck  smartly  beneath  his  ear,  and  the  warm  ashes 
slipped  down  inside  his  collar.  There  was  another 
explosion  of  laughter.  Tom  whirled  about,  and  with 
one  blow  sent  to  the  floor  the  man  who  had  thrown 
the  cigar.  The  laugh  broke  off,  and  in  the  sudden 
quiet  Tom  passed  out  of  the  bar-room  and  joined  the 
stream  of  members  going  up  the  broad  stairway  and 
entering  the  hall. 

The  hall  was  more  than  half  filled  with  men — 
some  sitting  patiently  in  their  chairs,  some  standing 
with  one  foot  on  chair  seats,  some  standing  in  the 
aisles  and  leaning  against  the  walls,  all  discussing  the 
same  subject,  the  abandonment  of  the  strike.  The 
general  mood  of  the  men  was  one  of  bitter  eagerness, 
as  it  was  also  the  mood  of  the  men  below,  for  all 
their  coarse  jesting, — the  bitterness  of  admitted  de 
feat,  the  eagerness  to  be  back  at  their  work  without 
more  delay. 

Tom  glanced  around,  and  immediately  he  saw  Pet- 
ersen  coming  toward  him,  his  lean  brown  face  glow 
ing. 

"  Hello,  Petersen.  I  was  looking  for  you,"  he  said 
in  a  whisper  when  the  Swede  had  gained  his  side. 
"  I  want  you  by  me  to-night." 

"  Yah." 

Petersen's  manner  announced  that  he  wanted  to 
speak,  and  Tom  now  remembered,  what  he  had  for- 


THE   EXPOSURE 

gotten  in  his  two  days'  absorption,  the  circumstances 
under  which  he  had  last  seen  the  Swede.  *44  How  are 
things  at  home?"  he  asked. 

44  Ve  be  goin'  to  move.  A  better  house."  After 
this  bit  of  loquacity  Petersen  smiled  blissfully — and 
said  no  more. 

Tom  told  Petersen  to  join  him  later,  and  then 
hurried  over  to  Barry  and  Jackson,  whom  he  saw 
talking  with  a  couple  other  of  his  friends  in  the 
front  of  the  hall.  "  Boys,  I  want  to  tell  you  some 
thing  in  a  minute,"  he  whispered.  "  Where's  Pete?  " 

44  The  committee's  havin'  a  meetin'  in  Connelly's 
office,"  answered  Barry. 

Tom  hurried  to  Connelly's  office  and  knocked. 
44  Come  in,"  a  voice  called,  and  he  opened  the  door. 
The  five  men  were  just  leaving  their  chairs. 

44  Hello,  Pete.  Can  I  see  you  as  soon's  you're 
through?"  Tom  asked. 

44  Sure.    Right  now." 

Connelly  improved  the  opportunity  by  offering 
Tom  some  advice,  emphasized  in  the  customary  man 
na*,  and  ended  with  the  request:  44  Now  for  God's 
sake,  keep  your  wind-hole  plugged  up  to-night!  " 

Tom  did  not  reply,  but  as  he  was  starting  away 
with  Pete  he  heard  Foley  say  to  the  secretary: 
44  Youse  can't  blame  him,  Connelly.  Some  o'  the 
rest  of  us  know  it  ain't  so  easy  to  give  up  a  fight." 

Tom  found  Barry,  Petersen  and  the  three  others 
waiting,  and  with  them  was  Johnson,  who  having 
noticed  Tom  whispering  to  them  had  carelessly  joined 
the  group  during  his  absence.  u  If  you  fellows  '11  step 
back  here  I'll  finish  that  little  thing  I  was  telling,"  he 


318    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

said,  and  led  the  way  to  a  rear  corner,  a  dozen  yards 
away  from  the  nearest  group. 

When  he  turned  to  face  the  six,  he  found  there 
were  seven.  Johnson  had  followed.  Tom  hesitated. 
He  did  not  care  to  speak  before  Johnson;  he  had 
always  held  that  person  in  light  esteem  because  of  his 
variable  opinions.  And  he  did  not  care  to  ask  John 
son  to  leave ;  that  course  might  beget  a  scene  which  in 
turn  would  beget  suspicion.  It  would  be  better  to 
speak  before  him,  and  then  see  that  he  remained  with 
the  group. 

"  Don't  show  the  least  surprise  while  I'm  talking; 
act  like  it  was  nothing  at  all,"  he  began  in  a  whisper. 
And  then  he  told  them  in  a  few  sentences  what  he 
had  discovered,  and  what  he  planned  to  do. 

They  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  "  Don't  look 
like  that  or  you'll  give  away  that  we've  got  a  scheme 
up  our  sleeves,"  he  warned  them.  "  Now  I  want  you 
fellows  to  stand  by  me.  There  may  be  trouble. 
Come  on,  let's  get  our  seats.  The  meeting  will  open 
pretty  soon." 

He  had  already  picked  out  a  spot,  at  the  front  end 
on  the  right  side,  the  corner  formed  by  the  wall  and 
the  grand  piano.  He  now  led  the  way  toward  this. 
Half-way  up  the  aisle  he  chanced  to  look  behind  him. 
There  were  only  six  men.  Johnson  was  gone. 

"  Take  the  seats  up  there,"  he  whispered,  and 
hurried  out  of  the  hall,  with  a  fear  that  Johnson  at 
that  minute  might  be  revealing  what  he  had  heard  to 
Foley.  But  when  he  reached  the  head  of  the  stair 
way  he  saw  at  its  foot  Foley,  Hogan,  and  Brown 
starting  slowly  up.  With  sudden  relief  he  turned 


THE   EXPOSURE  319 

back  and  joined  his  party.  A  little  later  Connelly 
mounted  the  platform  and  gave  a  few  preliminary 
raps  on  his  table,  and  Johnson  was  forgotten. 

The  men  standing  about  the  hall  found  seats. 
Word  was  sent  to  the  members  loitering  below  that 
the  meeting  was  beginning,  and  they  came  up  in  a 
straggling  body,  two  hundred  strong.  Every  chair 
was  filled;  men  had  to  stand  in  the  aisles,  and  along 
the  walls,  and  in  the  rear  where  there  were  no  seats. 
It  was  the  largest  gathering  of  the  union  there  had 
been  in  three  years.  Tom  noted  this,  and  was  glad. 

All  the  windows  were  open,  but  yet  the  hall  was 
suffocatingly  close.  Hundreds  of  cigars  were  mo 
mently  making  it  closer,  and  giving  the  upper  stratum 
of  the  room's  atmosphere  more  and  more  the  appear 
ance  of  a  solid.  Few  coats  were  on;  they  hung  over 
the  arms  of  those  standing,  and  lay  in  the  laps  of 
those  who  sat.  Connelly,  putting  down  his  gavel, 
took  off  his  collar  and  tie  and  laid  them  on  his  table, 
an  example  that  was  given  the  approval  of  general 
imitation.  Everywhere  faces  were  being  mopped. 

Connelly  rapped  again,  and  stood  waiting  till  quiet 
had  spread  among  the  fifteen  hundred  men.  "  I 
guess  you  all  know  what  we're  here  for,"  he  began. 
14  If  there's  no  objection  I  guess  we  can  drop  the  reg 
ular  order  o'  business  and  get  right  to  the  strike." 

There  was  a  general  cry  of  "  consent." 

44  Very  well.    Then  first  we'll  hear  from  the  strike 


committee." 


Foley,  as  chairman  of  the  strike  committee,  should 
have  spoken  for  it;  but  the  committee,  being  aware 
of  the  severe  humiliation  he  was  suffering,  and  to 


320    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

save  him  what  public  pain  it  could,  had  sympathetic 
ally  decided  that  some  other  member  should  deliver 
its  report.  And  Foley,  with  his  cunning  that  extended 
even  to  the  smallest  details,  had  suggested  Pete,  and 
Pete  had  been  selected. 

Pete  now  rose,  and  with  hands  on  Tom's  shoulders, 
calmly  spoke  what  the  committee  had  ordered.  The 
committee's  report  was  that  it  had  nothing  new  to 
report.  After  carefully  considering  every  circum 
stance  it  saw  no  possible  way  of  winning  the  strike. 
It  strongly  advised  the  union  to  yield  at  once,  as 
further  fighting  meant  only  further  loss  of  wages. 

Pete  was  hardly  back  in  his  seat  when  it  was  moved 
and  seconded  that  the  union  give  up  the  strike.  A 
great  stamping  and  cries  of  "  That's  right!  "  "  Give 
it  up!  "  "  Let's  get  back  to  work!  "  joined  to  give 
the  motion  a  tremenduous  uproar  of  approval. 

"  You  have  heard  the  motion,"  said  Connelly. 
"  Any  remarks?" 

Men  sprang  up  in  all  parts  of  the  crowd,  and  for 
over  an  hour  there  were  brief  speeches,  every  one  in 
favor  of  yielding.  In  substance  they  were  the  same : 
"  Since  the  strike's  lost,  let's  get  back  to  work  and  not 
lose  any  more  wages."  Every  speaker  was  applauded 
with  hand-clapping,  stamps,  and  shouts;  an  enthu 
siasm  for  retreat  had  seized  the  crowd.  Foley  was 
called  for,  but  did  not  respond.  Other  speakers  did, 
however,  and  the  enthusiasm  developed  to  the  spirit 
of  a  panic.  Through  speeches,  shouts,  and  stamping 
Tom  sat  quietly,  biding  his  time. 

Several  of  the  speakers  made  bitter  flings  at  the 
leadership  that  had  involved  them  in  this  disastrous 


THE   EXPOS 


strike.  Finally  one  man,  spurred  to  abandon  by  ap 
plause,  ended  his  hoarse  invective  by  moving  the  ex 
pulsion  of  the  members  who  had  led  the  union  into 
the  present  predicament.  So  far  Foley  had  sat  with 
face  down,  without  a  word,  in  obvious  dejection. 
But  when  this  last  speaker  was  through  he  rose  slowly 
to  his  feet.  At  sight  of  him  an  eager  quiet  possessed 
the  meeting. 

"  I  can't  say's  I  blame  youse  very  much  for  what 
youse  Ve  said,"  he  began,  in  a  voice  that  was  almost 
humble,  looking  toward  the  man  who  had  just  sat 
down.  "  I  helped  get  the  union  into  the  strike,  yes, 
an'  I  want  youse  boys  " — his  eyes  moved  over  the 
crowd — "  to  give  me  all  the  blame  that's  comin'  to 


me." 


A  pause.  "  But  I  ain't  the  only  one.  I  didn't  do 
as  much  to  bring  on  the  strike  as  some  others."  His 
glance  rested  on  Tom.  '  The  fact  is,  I  really  didn't 
go  in  for  the  strike  till  I  saw  all  o'  youse  seemed  to 
be  in  for  it.  Then  o'  course  I  did,  for  I'm  always 
with  youse.  An'  I  fought  hard,  so  long's  there  was  a 
chance.  Mebbe  there's  a  few  " — another  glance  at 
Tom — "  that'd  like  to  have  us  keep  on  fightin' — an' 
starve.  Blame  me  all  youse  want  to,  boys — but 
Buck  Foley  don't  want  none  o'  youse  to  starve." 

He  sank  slowly  back  into  his  chair.  u  You  did 
your  best,  Buck!  "  a  voice  shouted,  and  a  roar  of 
cheers  went  up.  To  those  near  him  he  seemed  to 
brighten  somewhat  at  this  encouragement. 

'  Three  cheers  for  Keating!  "  cried  the  man  who 
had  raised  this  shout  in  the  bar-room,  springing  to  his 
feet.  And  again  he  led  off  with  three  groans,  which 


322    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

the  crowd  swelled  to  a  volume  matching  the  cheers 
for  Foley.  Connelly,  in  deference  to  his  office, 
pounded  with  his  gavel  and  called  for  silence — but 
weakly. 

Tom  flushed  and  his  jaw  tightened,  but  he  kept  his 
seat. 

The  crowd  began  once  more  to  demand  Foley's 
views  on  the  question  before  the  house.  He  shook 
his  head  at  Connelly,  as  he  had  repeatedly  done  be 
fore.  But  the  meeting  would  not  accept  his  negative. 
They  added  the  clapping  of  hands  and  the  stamping 
of  feet  to  their  cries.  Foley  came  up  a  second  time, 
with  most  obvious  reluctance. 

"  I  feel  sorter  like  the  man  that  was  run  over  by 
a  train  an'  had  his  tongue  cut  out,"  he  began,  making 
what  the  union  saw  was  a  hard  effort  to  smile.  "  I 
don't  feel  like  sayin'  much. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  everything  worth  sayin'  has 
been  said  already,"  he  went  on  in  his  previous  humble, 
almost  apologetic,  tone.  "  What  I've  got  to  say 
I'll  say  in  the  shadow  of  a  minute.  I  size  up  the 
whole  thing  like  this :  We  went  into  this  Strike  thinkin' 
we'd  win,  an'  because  we  needed  more  money.  An' 
boys,  we  ought  to  have  it!  But  we  made  a  mis 
take  somewhere.  I  guess  youse  Ve  found  out  that  in 
a  fight  it  ain't  always  the  man  that's  right  that  wins. 
It's  the  strongest  man.  The  same  in  a  strike.  We're 
right,  and  we've  fought  our  best,  but  the  other  fellows 
are  settin'  on  our  chests.  I  guess  our  mistake  was, 
we  wasn't  as  strong  when  we  went  into  the  fight  as 
we  thought  we  was. 

"  Now  the  question,  as  I  see  it,  is:     Do  we  want 


THE   EXPOSURE  323 

to  keep  the  other  fellow  on  our  chests,  we  all  fagged 
out,  with  him  mebbe  punchin'  our  faces  whenever  he 
feels  like  it? — keep  us  there  till  we're  done  up  for 
ever?  Or  do  we  want  to  give  in  an1  say  weVe  had 
enough?  He'll  let  us  up,  we'll  take  a  rest,  we'll  get 
back  our  wind  an'  strength,  an'  when  we're  good  an' 
ready,  why,  another  fight,  an'  better  luck!  I  know 
which  is  my  style,  an'  from  what  youse  boys  Ve  said 
here  to-night,  I  can  make  a  pretty  good  guess  as  to 
what's  your  style." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  when  he  began 
again  his  voice  was  lower  and  there  was  a  deep  sad 
ness  in  it  that  he  could  not  hide.  u  Boys,  this  is  the 
hardest  hour  o'  my  life.  I  ain't  very  used  to  losin' 
fights.  I  think  youse  can  count  in  a  couple  o'  days 
all  the  fights  I  lost  for  youse.  [A  cry,  "  Never  a 
one,  Buck!  "]  An'  it  comes  mighty  hard  for  me  to 
begin  to  lose  now.  If  I  was  to  do  what  I  want  to 
do,  I'd  say,  *  Let's  never  give  in.'  But  I  know  what's 
best  for  the  union,  boys  .  .  .  an'  so  I  lose  my  first 
strike." 

He  sank  back  into  his  seat,  and  his  head  fell 
forward  upon  his  breast.  There  was  a  moment  of 
sympathetic  silence,  then  an  outburst  of  shouts:  "  It 
ain't  your  fault!"  "You've  done  your  best!" 
1  You  take  your  lickin'  like  a  man !  "  But  these 
individual  shouts  were  straightway  lost  in  cries  of 
"  Foley!  "  "  Foley!  "  and  in  a  mighty  cheer  that 
thundered  through  the  hall.  Next  to  a  game  fighter 
men  admire  a  game  loser. 

This  was  Tom's  moment.  He  had  been  waiting 
till  Foley  should  place  himself  on  record  before  the 


324    THE   WALKING    DELEGATE 

entire  union.  He  now  stood  up  and  raised  his  right 
hand  to  gain  Connelly's  attention.  "  Mr.  Chair 
man  !  "  he  called. 

"  Question!  "  "  Question!  "  shouted  the  crowd, 
few  even  noticing  that  Tom  was  claiming  right  of 
speech. 

"  Mr.  Chairman !  "  Tom  cried  again. 

Connelly's  attention  was  caught,  and  for  an  in 
stant  he  looked  irresolutely  at  Tom.  The  crowd, 
following  their  president's  eyes,  saw  Tom  and  broke 
into  a  great  hiss. 

u  D'you  want  any  more  speeches?  "  Connelly  put 
to  the  union. 

"No!"   "No!"   "Question!"   "Question!" 

"  All  in  favor  of  the  motion " 

The  desperate  strait  demanded  an  eminence  to 
speak  fromr  but  the  way  to  the  platform  was  blocked. 
Tom  vaulted  to  the  top  of  the  grand  piano,  and  his 
eyes  blazed  down  upon  the  crowd. 

"  You  shall  listen  to  me !  "  he  shouted,  breaking 
in  on  Connelly.  His  right  arm  pointed  across  the  hall 
to  where  Foley  was  bowed  in  humiliation.  "  Buck 
Foley  has  sold  you  out!  " 

In  the  great  din  his  voice  did  not  carry  more  than 
a  dozen  rows,  but  upon  those  rows  silence  fell  sud 
denly.  "What  was  that?"  men  just  behind  asked 
excitedly,  their  eyes  on  Tom  standing  on  the  piano, 
his  arm  stretched  toward  Eoley.  A  tide  of  explana 
tion  moved  backward,  and  the  din  sank  before  it. 

Tom  shouted  again:  "  Buck  Foley  has  sold  you 
out!" 

This  time  his  words  reached  the  farthest  man  in 


THE   EXPOSURE  325 

the  hall.  There  was  an  instant  of  stupefied  quiet. 
Then  Foley  himself  stood  up.  He  seemed  to  have 
paled  a  shade,  but  there  was  not  a  quaver  in  his  voice 
when  he  spoke. 

"  This's  a  nice  little  stage  play  our  friend's  made 
up  for  the  last  minute.  He's  been  fightin'  a  settle 
ment  right  along,  an'  this  is  his  last  trick  to  get  youse 
to  put  it  off.  He's  sorter  like  a  blind  friend  o'  mine 
who  went  fishin'  one  day.  He  got  turned  with  his 
back  to  the  river,  an'  he  fished  all  day  in  the  grass. 
I  think  Keating's  got  turned  in  the  wrong  direction, 


too." 


A  few  in  the  crowd  laughed  waveringly;  some 
began  to  talk  excitedly;  but  most  looked  silently  at 
Tom,  still  stunned  by  his  blow-like  declaration. 

Tom  paid  no  attention  to  Foley's  words.  "  Fifty 
thousand  dollars  was  what  he  gotl  "  he  said  in  his 
loudest  voice. 

For  the  moment  it  was  as  if  those  fifteen  hundred 
men  had  been  struck  dumb  and  helpless.  Again  it 
was  Foley  who  broke  the  silence.  He  reared  his 
long  body  aboye  the  bewildered  crowd  and  spoke 
easily.  "  If  youse  boys  don't  see  through  that  lie 
youse'  re  blind.  If  I  was  runnin'  the  strike  alone  an' 
wanted  to  sell  it  out,  what  Keating's  said  might  be 
possible.  But  I  ain't  runnin'  it.  A  committee  is — 
five  men.  Now  how  d'youse  suppose  I  could  sell  out 
with  four  men  watchin'  me — an'  one  o'  them  a 
friend  o'  Keating?  " 

He  did  not  wait  for  a  response  from  his  audience. 
He  turned  to  Connelly  and  went  on  with  a  provoked 
air:  "  Mr.  Chairman,  youse  know,  an'  the  rest  o' 


326    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

the  committee  knows,  that  it  was  youse  who  suggested 
we  give  up  the  strike.  An'  youse  know  I  held  out 
again'  givin'  in.  Now  ain't  we  had  enough  o'  Keat- 
ing's  wind?  S'pose  youse  put  the  question." 

What  Foley  had  said  was  convincing;  and,  even 
at  this  instant,  Tom  himself  could  but  admire  the 
self-control,  the  air  of  provoked  forbearance,  with 
which  he  said  it.  The  quiet,  easy  speech  had  given 
the  crowd  time  to  recover.  As  Foley  sat  down  there 
was  a  sudden  tumult  of  voices,  and  then  loud  cries  of 
''Question!"  "Question!" 

"  Order,  Mr.  Chairman !  I  demand  the  right  to 
speak !  "  Tom  cried. 

"  No  one  wants  to  hear  you,  and  the  question's 
called  for." 

Tom  turned  to  the  crowd.  "  It's  for  you  to  say 
whether  you'll  hear  me  or " 

"  Out  of  order!  "  shouted  Connelly. 

"  I've  got  facts,  men !  Facts !  Will  it  hurt  you 
to  hear  me?  You  can  vote  as  you  please,  then!  " 

41  Question !  "  went  up  a  roar,  and  immediately 
after  it  a  greater  and  increasing  roar  of  "  Keating!  " 
"Keating!" 

Connelly  could  but  yield.  He  pounded  for  order, 
then  nodded  at  Tom.  "  Well,  go  on." 

Tom  realized  the  theatricality  of  his  position  on 
the  piano,  but  he  also  realized  its  advantage,  and  did 
not  get  down.  He  waited  a  moment  to  gain  control 
of  his  mind,  and  his  eyes  moved  over  the  rows  and 
rows  of  faces  that  gleamed  dully  from  sweat  and 
excitement  through  the  haze  of  smoke. 

What  he  had  to  say  first  was  pure  conjecture,  but 


THE   EXPOSURE  327 

he  spoke  with  the  convincing  decision  of  the  man 
who  has  guessed  at  nothing.  "  YouVe  heard  the 
other  men  speak.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  hear  me  out 
the  same  way.  And  I  have  something  far  more  im 
portant  to  say  than  anything  that's  been  said  here 
to-night.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  story  of  the 
most  scoundrelly  trick  that  was  ever  played  on  a 
trade  union.  For  the  union  has  been  sold  out,  and 
Buck  Foley  lies  when  he  says  it  has  not,  and  he  knows 
he  lies!" 

Every  man  was  listening  intently.  Tom  went  on : 
"  About  three  weeks  ago,  just  when  negotiations  were 
opened  again,  Foley  arranged  with  the  bosses  to  sell 
out  the  strike.  Fifty  thousand  dollars  was  the  price. 
The  bosses  were  to  make  a  million  or  more  out  of 
the  deal,  Foley  was  to  make  fifty  thousand,  and  we 
boys  were  to  pay  for  it  all!  Foley's  work  was  to 
fool  the  committee,  make  them  lose  confidence  in  the 
strike,  and  they  of  course  would  make  the  union  lose 
confidence  and  we'd  give  up.  That  was  his  job,  and 
for  it  he  was  to  have  fifty  thousand  dollars. 

"  Well,  he  was  the  man  for  the  job.  He  worked 
the  committee,  and  worked  it  so  slick  it  never  knew 
it  was  being  worked.  He  even  made  the  committee 
think  it  was  urging  him  to  give  up  the  strike.  How 
he  did  it,  it's  beyond  me  or  any  other  honest  man 
even  to  guess.  No  one  could  have  done  it  but  Foley. 
He's  the  smoothest  crook  that  ever  happened.  I 
give  you  that  credit,  Buck  Foley.  You're  the 
smoothest  crook  that  ever  happened!  " 

Foley  had  come  to  his  feet  with  a  look  that  was 
more  of  a  glaring  scowl  than  anything  else :  eyebrows 


328    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

drawn  down  shaggily,  a  gully  between  them — nose 
drawn  up  and  nostrils  flaring — jaws  clenched — the 
whole  face  clenched.  "  Mr.  President,  are  youse 
goin'  to  let  that  man  go  on  with  his  lies?  "  he  broke 
in  fiercely. 

The  crowd  roused  from  its  tension.  "  Go  on, 
Keating!  Go  on!  " 

"  If  he  goes  on  with  them  lies,  I  for  one  ain't  goin1 
to  stay  to  listen  to  'em !  "  Foley  grabbed  his  coat 
from  the  back  of  his  chair  and  started  to  edge  through 
to  the  aisle. 

"  If  you  leave,  Buck  Foley,  it's  the  same  as  a  con 
fession  of  guilt!"  shouted  Tom.  u  Stay  here  and 
defend  yourself  like  a  man,  if  you  can !  " 

"Against  youse?"  He  laughed  a  dry  cackling 
laugh,  and  his  returning  self-mastery  smoothed  out 
his  face.  And  then  his  inherent  bravado  showed 
itself.  On  reaching  the  aisle,  instead  of  turning 
toward  the  door,  he  turned  toward  the  platform  and 
seated  himself  on  its  edge,  directing  a  look  of 
insouciant  calm  upon  the  men. 

"  Whatever  lies  there  are,  are  all  yours,  Buck 
Foley,"  Tom  went  on.  He  looked  again  at  the 
crowd,  bending  toward  him  in  attention.  "  The 
trick  worked.  How  well  is  shown  by  our  being  on 
the  point  of  voting  to  give  up  the  strike.  Little  by 
little  our  confidence  was  destroyed  by  doubt,  and 
little  by  little  Foley  got  nearer  to  his  money— till 
to-day  came.  I'm  speaking  facts  now,  boys.  I've 
got  evidence  for  everything  I'm  going  to  tell  you. 
I  know  every  move  Foley's  made  in  the  last  thirty- 
six  hours. 


THE   EXPOSURE  329 

"  Well,  this  morning, — I'll  only  give  the  big  facts, 
facts  that  count, — this  morning  he  went  to  get  the 
price  of  us — fifty  thousand  dollars.  Where  do  you 
suppose  he  met  Baxter?  In  some  hotel,  or  some 
secret  place?  Not  much.  Cunning!  That  word 
don't  do  justice  to  Foley.  He  met  Baxter  in  Baxter's 
own  office ! — and  with  the  door  open !  Could  any 
thing  be  more  in  harmony  with  the  smooth  scheme 
by  which  he  fooled  the  committee?  He  left  the  door 
wide  open,  so  everyone  outside  could  hear  that 
nothing  crooked  was  going  on.  He  swore  at  Baxter. 
He  called  him  every  sort  of  name  because  he  would 
not  make  us  any  concession.  After  a  minute  or  two 
he  came  out,  still  swearing  mad.  His  coat  was  but 
toned  up — tight.  It  was  unbuttoned  when  he  went 
in.  And  the  people  that  heard  thought  what  an 
awful  calling-down  Baxter  had  got. 

"  Foley  went  first  to  the  Independence  Bank.  He 
left  seventeen  thousand  there.  At  the  Jackson  Bank 
he  left  fifteen  thousand,  and  at  the  Third  National 
eighteen  thousand.  Fifty  thousand  dollars,  boys — 
his  price  for  selling  us  out!  And  he  comes  here 
to-night  and  pretends  to  be  broken-hearted.  *  This 
is  the  hardest  hour  of  my  life,'  he  says;  '  and  so  I 
lose  my  first  strike.'  Broken-hearted! — with  fifty 
thousand  put  in  the  bank  in  one  day!  " 

There  was  a  tense  immobility  through  all  the 
crowd,  and  a  profound  stillness,  quickly  broken  by 
Foley  before  anyone  else  could  forestall  him.  There 
was  a  chance  that  Tom's  words  had  not  caught  hold — 
his  thousandth  chance. 

'*  If  that  fool  is  through  ravin',   better  put  the 


330    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

motion,  Connelly,"  he  remarked  the  instant  Tom 
ended,  in  an  even  tone  that  reached  the  farthest  edge 
of  the  hall.  No  one  looking  at  him  at  this  instant, 
still  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  platform,  would  have 
guessed  his  show  of  calmness  was  calling  from  him 
the  supreme  effort  of  his  life. 

Voices  buzzed,  then  there  rose  a  dull  roar  of  anger. 

It  had  been  Foley's  last  chance,  and  he  had  lost. 
He  threw  off  his  control,  and  leaped  to  his  feet,  his 
face  twisted  with  vengeful  rage.  He  tossed  his  hat 
and  coat  on  the  platform,  and  without  a  word  made 
a  rush  through  the  men  toward  Tom. 

"Let  him  through,  boys!"  Tom  shouted,  and 
sprang  from  the  piano.  Petersen  stepped  quickly  to 
his  side,  but  Tom  pushed  him  away  and  waited  in 
burning  eagerness  in  the  little  open  space.  And  the 
crowd,  still  dazed  by  the  revelations  of  the  last  scene, 
looked  fascinated  upon  this  new  one. 

But  at  this  moment  an  interruption  came  from  the 
rear  of  the  hall.  "Letter  for  Foley!"  shouted  a 
voice.  "  Letter  for  Foley!  " 

Foley  paused  in  his  rush,  and  turned  his  livid  face 
toward  the  cry.  The  sergeant-at-arms  was  pushing 
his  way  through  the  center  aisle,  repeating  his  shout, 
his  right  hand  holding  an  envelope  aloft.  He  gained 
Foley's  side  and  laid  the  letter  in  the  walking  dele 
gate's  hand.  "  Messenger  just  brought  it !  Very 
important!  "  he  cried. 

Foley  glared  at  Tom,  looked  at  the  letter,  hesi 
tated,  then  ripped  open  the  envelope  with  a  bony 
forefinger.  The  crowd  looked  on,  hardly  breathing, 
while  he  read. 


Chapter  XXIX 

IN    WHICH    MR.    BAXTER    SHOWS    HIMSELF 
A   MAN   OF   RESOURCES 

v^j  -^T  was  just  eight  o'clock  when   Johnson 

kjt  gave  three  excited  raps  with  the  heavy 

j|          iron  knocker  on  the  door  of  Mr.  Baxter's 

^ —      ^x   house  in  Madison  Avenue.    A  personage 

in  purple  evening  clothes  drew  the  door  wide  open, 

but  on  seeing  the  sartorial  character  of  the  caller  he 

filled  the  doorway  with  his  own  immaculate  figure. 

41  Is  Mr.  Baxter  at  home?"  asked  Johnson 
eagerly. 

"  He  is  just  going  out,"  the  other  condescended  to 
reply. 

That  should  have  been  enough  to  dispose  of  this 
common  fellow.  But  Johnson  kept  his  place.  "  I 
want  to  see  him,  for  just  a  minute.  Tell  him  my 
name.  He'll  see  me.  It's  Johnson." 

The  personage  considered  a  space,  then  disap 
peared  to  search  for  Mr.  Baxter;  first  showing  his 
discretion  by  closing  the  door — with  Johnson  outside 
of  it.  He  quickly  reappeared  and  led  Johnson  across 
a  hall  that  was  as  large  as  Johnson's  flat,  up  a  broad 
stairway,  and  through  a  wide  doorway  into  the 
library,  where  he  left  him,  standing,  to  gain  what  he 
could  from  sight  of  the  rows  and  rows  of  leather- 
backed  volumes. 


332    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

Almost  at  once  Mr.  Baxter  entered,  dressed  in  a 
dinner  coat. 

"You  have  something  to  tell  me?"  he  asked 
quickly. 

"  Yes." 

"  This  way."  Mr.  Baxter  led  Johnson  into  a 
smaller  room,  opening  upon  the  library,  furnished 
with  little  else  besides  a  flat-top  walnut  desk,  a  tele 
phone,  and  a  typewriter  on  a  low  table.  Here  Mr. 
Baxter  sometimes  attended  to  his  correspondence, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  stenographer  sent  from  the 
office,  when  he  did  not  feel  like  going  downtown ;  and 
in  here,  when  the  mood  was  on  him,  he  sometimes 
slipped  to  write  bits  of  verse,  a  few  of  which  he  had 
published  in  magazines  under  a  pseudonym. 

Mr.  Baxter  closed  the  door,  took  the  chair  at  the 
desk  and  waved  Johnson  to  the  stenographer's.  u  I 
have  only  a  minute.  What  is  it?  " 

For  all  his  previous  calls  on  Mr.  Baxter,  this 
refined  presence  made  Johnson  dumb  with  embar 
rassment.  He  would  have  been  more  at  his  ease  had 
he  had  the  comfort  of  fumbling  his  hat,  but  the 
purple  personage  had  gingerly  taken  his  battered 
derby  from  him  at  the  door. 

"  Well?  "  said  Mr.  Baxter,  a  bit  impatiently. 

Johnson  found  his  voice  and  rapidly  told  of  Tom's 
discovery,  as  he  had  heard  it  from  Tom  twenty 
minutes  before,  and  of  the  exposure  that  was  going 
to  be  made  that  evening.  At  first  Mr.  Baxter  seemed 
to  start;  the  hand  on  the  desk  did  certainly  tighten. 
But  that  was  all. 

"  Did  Mr.  Keating  say,  in  this  story  he  proposes 


A  MAN   OF   RESOURCES       333 

to  tell,  whether  we  offered  Mr.  Foley  money  to  sell 
out,  or  whether  Mr.  Foley  demanded  it?  "  he  asked, 
when  Johnson  had  ended. 

"  He  didn't  say.    He  didn't  seem  to  know." 

Mr.  Baxter  did  not  speak  for  a  little  while;  then 
he  said,  with  a  quiet  carelessness:  "  What  you  have 
told  me  is  of  no  great  importance,  though  it  probably 
seems  so  to  you.  It  might,  however,  have  been  of 
great  value.  So  I  want  to  say  to  you  that  I  thor 
oughly  appreciate  the  promptness  with  which  you 
have  brought  me  this  intelligence.  If  I  can  still 

depend  upon  your  faithfulness,  and  your  secrecy " 

Mr.  Baxter  paused. 

"  Always,"  said  Johnson  eagerly. 

"  And  your  secrecy — "  this  with  a  slight  em 
phasis,  the  gray  eyes  looking  right  through  John 
son;  uyou  can  count  upon  an  early  token  of  ap 
preciation,  in  excess  of  what  regularly  comes  to 
you." 

"  YouVe  always  found  you  could  count  on  me, 
ain't  you?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  always  can !  " 

Mr.  Baxter  touched  a  button  beneath  his  desk. 
"  Have  Mitchell  show  Mr.  Johnson  out,"  he  said 
to  the  maid  who  answered  the  ring.  "  Do  you  know 
where  Mrs.  Baxter  is?  " 

u  In  her  room,  sir." 

Johnson  bowed  awkwardly,  and  backed  away  after 
the  maid. 

"  Good-night,"  Mr.  Baxter  said  shortly,  and  fol 
lowed  the  two  out.  He  crossed  the  library  with  the 


334    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

intention  of  going  to  the  room  of  his  wife,  who  had 
come  to  town  to  be  with  him  during  the  crisis  of  the 
expected  victory,  but  he  met  her  in  the  hall  ready 
to  go  out. 

"  My  dear,  some  important  business  has  just  come 
up,"  he  said.  "  I'm  afraid  there's  nothing  for  me 
to  do  but  to  attend  to  it  to-night." 

"That's  too  bad!  I  don't  care  for  myself,  for 
it's  only  one  of  those  stupid  musical  comedies.  I 
only  cared  to  go  because  I  thought  it  would  help 
you.  through  the  suspense  of  the  evening." 

After  the  exchange  of  a  few  more  words  he  kissed 
her  and  she  went  quietly  back  to  her  room.  He 
watched  her  a  moment,  wondering  if  she  would  bear 
herself  with  such  calm  grace  if  she  knew  what  awaited 
him  in  to-morrow's  papers. 

He  passed  quickly  back  into  the  little  office,  and 
locked  the  door  behind  him.  Then  the  composure 
he  had  worn  before  Johnson  and  his  wife  swiftly 
vanished;  and  he  sat  at  the  desk  with  interlocked 
hands,  facing  the  most  critical  situation  of  his  life. 
There  was  no  doubting  what  Johnson  had  told 
him. 

When  to-morrow's  papers  appeared  with  their  cer 
tain  stories — first  page,  big  headlines — of  how  he 
and  other  members  of  the  Executive  Committee,  all 
gentlemen  of  reputation,  had  bribed  a  walking  dele 
gate,  and  a  notoriously  corrupt  walking  delegate,  to 
sell  out  the  Iron  Workers'  strike — the  members  of 
the  committee  would  be  dishonored  forever,  and  he 
dishonored  more  than  all.  And  his  wife,  how  could 
she  bear  this?  How  could  he  explain  to  her,  who 


A  MAN   OF   RESOURCES       335 

believed  him  nothing  but  honor,  once  this  story  was 
out? 

He  forced  these  sickening  thoughts  from  his 
brain.  He  had  no  time  for  them.  Disgrace  must 
be  avoided,  if  possible,  and  every  minute  was  of 
honor's  consequence.  He  strained  his  mind  upon  the 
crisis.  The  strike  was  now  nothing;  of  first  impor 
tance,  of  only  importance,  was  how  to  escape  dis 
grace. 

It  was  the  peculiar  quality  of  Mr.  Baxter's  trained 
mind  that  he  saw,  with  almost  instant  directness,  the 
best  chance  in  a  business  situation.  Two  days  before 
it  had  taken  Tom  from  eleven  to  eleven,  twelve  hours, 
to  see  his  only  chance.  Mr.  Baxter  now  saw  his  only 
chance  in  less  than  twelve  minutes. 

His  only  chance  was  to  forestall  exposure,  by  being 
the  first  to  tell  the  story  publicly.  He  saw  his  course 
clearly — to  rush  straight  to  the  District  Attorney, 
to  tell  a  story  almost  identical  with  Tom's,  and  that 
varied  from  the  facts  on  only  two  points.  First  of 
these  two  points,  the  District  Attorney  was  to  be  told 
that  Foley  had  come  to  them  demanding  fifty  thou 
sand  dollars  as  the  price  of  settlement.  Second,  that 
they  had  seen  in  this  demand  a  chance  to  get  the 
hands  of  the  law  upon  this  notorious  walking  dele 
gate;  that  they  had  gone  into  the  plan  with  the  sole 
purpose  of  gaining  evidence  against  him  and  bringing 
him  to  justice;  that  they  had  been  able  to  secure  a 
strong  case  of  extortion  against  him,  and  now  de 
manded  his  arrest.  This  same  story  was  to  go  to 
the  newspapers  before  they  could  possibly  get  Tom's. 
The  committee  would  then  appear  to  the  world  in  no 


336    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

wonse  light  than  having  stooped  to  the  use  of  some 
what  doubtful  means  to  rid  themselves  and  the  union 
of  a  piratical  blackmailer. 

Mr.  Baxter  glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  half- 
past  eight.  He  stepped  to  the  telephone,  found  the 
number  of  the  home  telephone  of  the  District  At 
torney,  and  rang  him  up.  He  was  in,  luckily,  and 
soon  had  the  receiver  at  his  ear.  Could  Mr.  Baxter 
see  him  in  half  an  hour  on  a  matter  of  importance — 
of  great  public  importance?  Mr.  Baxter  could. 

He  next  rang  up  Mr.  Murphy,  who  had  been  with 
him  in  his  office  that  morning  when  the  money  had 
been  handed  to  Foley.  Mr.  Murphy  was  also  at 
home,  and  answered  the  telephone  himself.  Could 
Mr.  Baxter  meet  him  in  fifteen  minutes  in  the  lobby 
of  the  Waldorf-Astoria?  Very  important.  Mr. 
Murphy  could. 

As  he  left  the  telephone  it  struck  him  that  while 
the  committee  must  seemingly  make  every  effort  to 
secure  Foley's  arrest,  it  would  be  far  better  for  them 
if  Foley  escaped.  If  arrested,  he  would  naturally 
turn  upon  them  and  tell  his  side  of  the  affair.  No 
body  would  believe  him,  for  he  was  one  against  five, 
but  all  the  same  he  could  start  a  most  unpleasant 
story. 

One  instant  the  danger  flashed  upon  Mr.  Baxter. 
The  next  instant  his  plan  for  its  avoidance  was  ready. 
He  seated  himself  at  the  typewriter,  drew  off  its 
black  sole-leather  case,  ran  in  a  sheet  of  plain  white 
paper,  and,  picking  at  the  keys,  slowly  wrote  a  mes 
sage  to  Foley.  That  finished,  he  ran  in  a  plain 
envelope,  which  he  addressed  to  Foley  at  Potomac 


A   MAN   OF   RESOURCES       337 

Hall.     This  letter  he  would  leave   at  the  nearest 
messenger  office. 

Five  minutes  later  Mr.  Baxter,  in  a  business  suit, 
passed  calmly  through  his  front  door,  opened  for  him 
by  the  purple  personage,  and  out  into  the  street. 


Chapter  XXX 
THE   LAST   OF   BUCK   FOLEY 

HE  letter  which  Foley  read,  while  the 
union  looked  on,  hardly  breathing,  was 
as  follows : 


All  is  over.  The  District  Attorney  will  be  told  to-night  you  held 
them  up,  forcing  them  to  give  you  the  amount  you  received.  They 
have  all  the  evidence ;  you  have  none.  Their  hands  are  clean. 
Against  you  it  is  a  perfect  case  of  extortion. 

Though  the  note  was  unsigned,  Foley  knew  in 
stantly  from  whom  it  came.  The  contractors,  then, 
were  going  to  try  to  clear  themselves,  and  he  was 
to  be  made  the  scapegoat.  He  was  to  be  arrested; 
perhaps  at  once.  Foley  had  thought  over  his  situ 
ation  before,  its  possibilities  and  its  dangers.  His 
mind  worked  quickly  now.  If  he  came  to  trial,  they 
had  the  witnesses  as  the  note  said — and  he  had  none. 
As  they  would  be  able  to  make  it  out,  it  would  be  a 
plain  case  of  extortion  against  him.  He  could  not 
escape  conviction,  and  conviction  meant  years  in  Sing 
Sing.  Truly,  all  was  over.  He  saw  his  only  chance 
in  an  instant — to  escape. 

The  reading  of  the  note,  and  this  train  of  thought, 
used  less  than  a  minute.  Foley  crushed  the  sheet  of 
paper  and  envelope  into  a  ball  and  thrust  them  into 
a  trousers  pocket,  and  looked  up  with  the  determina- 

338 


THE   LAST   OF   BUCK   FOLEY     339 

tion  to  try  his  only  chance.  His  eyes  fell  upon  what 
in  the  tense  absorption  of  the  minute  he  had  almost 
forgotten — fifteen  hundred  men  staring  at  him  with 
fixed  waiting  faces,  and  one  man  staring  at  him  with 
clenched  fists  in  vengeful  readiness. 

At  sight  of  Tom  his  decision  to  escape  was  swept 
out  of  him  by  an  overmastering  fury.  He  rushed 
toward  Tom  through  the  alleyway  the  men  had 
automatically  opened  at  Tom's  command.  But 
Petersen  stepped  quickly  out,  a  couple  of  paces  ahead 
of  Tom,  to  meet  him. 

"  Out  o'  the  way,  youse!  "  he  snarled. 

But  Petersen  did  not  get  out  of  the  way,  and 
before  Tom  could  interfere  to  save  the  fight  for 
himself,  Foley  struck  out  savagely.  Petersen  gave 
back  a  blow,  just  one,  the  blow  that  had  gained  the 
fight  for  him  a  week  ago.  Foley  went  to  the  floor, 
and  lay  there. 

This  flash  of  action  released  the  crowd  from  the 
spell  that  held  them.  They  were  roused  from 
statues  to  a  mob.  "  Kill  him  !  Kill  him !  "  someone 
shouted,  and  instantly  the  single  cry  swelled  to  a  tre 
mendous  roar. 

Had  it  not  been  for  Tom,  Foley  would  have  come 
to  his  end  then  and  there.  The  fifteen  hundred  men 
started  forward,  crushing  through  aisles,  upsetting 
the  folding  chairs  and  tramping  over  their  collapsed 
frames,  pushing  and  tearing  at  each  other  to  get  to 
where  Foley  lay.  Tom  saw  that  in  an  instant  the 
front  of  that  vindictive  mob  would  be  stamping  the 
limp  body  of  the  walking  delegate  into  pulp.  He 
sprang  to  Foley's  side,  seized  him  by  his  collar  and 


340    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

dragged  him  forward  into  the  space  between  the 
piano  and  the  end  wall,  so  that  the  heavy  instrument 
was  a  breastwork  against  the  union's  fury. 

"  Here  Petersen,  Pete,  the  rest  of  you !  "  he  cried. 
The  little  group  that  had  stood  round  him  during 
the  meeting  rushed  forward.  "In  there!"  He 
pushed  them,  as  a  guard,  into  the  gap  before  Foley's 
body. 

Then  he  faced  about.  The  fore  of  that  great 
tumult  of  wrath  was  already  pressing  upon  him  and 
the  little  guard,  and  the  men  behind  were  fighting 
forward  over  chairs,  over  each  other,  swearing  and 
crying  for  Foley's  death. 

"  Stop !  "  shouted  Tom.  Connelly,  stricken  with 
helplessness,  completely  lost,  pounded  weakly  with 
his  gavel. 

"  Kill  him !  "  roared  the  mob.    "  Kill  the  traitor !  " 

"  Disgrace  the  union  by  murder?  "  Tom  shouted. 
"  Kill  him? — what  punishment  is  that?  Nothing  at 
all !  Let  the  law  give  him  justice !  " 

The  cries  from  the  rear  of  the  hall  still  went  up, 
but  the  half  dozen  men  who  had  crowded,  and  been 
crowded,  upon  the  little  guard  now  drew  back,  and 
Tom  thought  his  words  were  having  their  effect. 
But  a  quick  glance  over  his  shoulder  showed  him  Pet 
ersen,  in  fighting  posture — and  he  knew  why  the  front 
men  had  hesitated;  and  also  showed  him  Foley 
leaning  dizzily  against  the  piano. 

The  hesitation  on  the  part  of  the  front  rank  lasted 
for  but  an  instant.  They  were  swept  forward  by 
the  hundreds  behind  them,  and  Foley's  line  of  de 
fenders  was  crushed  against  the  wall.  It  was  all  up 


THE   LAST   OF   BUCK    FOLEY    341 

with  Foley,  Tom  thought;  this  onslaught  would  be 
the  last  of  him.  And  as  his  own  body  went  against 
the  wall  under  the  mob's  terrific  pressure,  he  had  a 
gasping  wish  that  he  had  not  interfered  two  minutes 
before.  The  breath  was  all  out  of  him,  he  thought 
his  ribs  were  going  to  crack,  he  was  growing  faint 
and  dizzy — when  the  pressure  suddenly  released  and 
the  furious  uproar  hushed  almost  to  stillness.  He 
regained  his  balance  and  his  breath  and  glanced 
dazedly  about. 

There,  calmly  standing  on  the  piano  and  leaning 
against  the  wall,  was  Foley,  his  left  hand  in  his 
trousers  pocket,  his  right  uplifted  to  command  atten 
tion. 

"  Boys,  I  feel  it  sorter  embarrassin'  to  interrupt 
your  little  entertainment  like  this,"  he  began  blandly, 
but  breathing  very  heavily.  "  But  I  suppose  I  won't 
have  many  more  chances  to  make  speeches  before 
youse,  an'  I  want  to  make  about  a  remark  an'  a  half. 
What's  past — well,  youse  know.  But  what  I  got  to 
say  about  the  future  is  all  on  the  level.  Go  in  an' 
beat  the  contractors !  Youse  can  beat  'em.  An'  beat 
'em  like  hell!" 

He  paused,  and  gave  an  almost  imperceptible 
glance  toward  an  open  window  a  few  feet  away,  and 
moved  a  step  nearer  it.  A  look  of  baiting  defiance 
came  over  his  face,  and  he  went  on :  "  As  for  youse 
fellows.  The  whole  crowd  o'  youse  just  tried  to 
do  me  up — a  thousand  or  two  again'  one.  I  fooled 
the  whole  bunch  o'  youse  once.  An*  I  can  lick  the 
whole  bunch  o'  youse,  too ! — one  at  a  time.  But 
not  just  now !  " 


342    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

With  his  last  word  he  sprang  across  to  the  sill  of 
the  open  window,  five  feet  away.  Tom  had  noted 
Foley's  glance  and  his  edging  toward  the  window, 
and  guessing  that  Foley  contemplated  some  new 
move,  he  had  held  himself  in  readiness  for  anything. 
He  sprang  after  Foley,  thinking  the  walking  delegate 
meant  to  leap  to  his  death  on  the  stone-paved  court 
below,  and  threw  his  arms  about  the  other's  knees. 
In  the  instant  of  embracing  he  noticed  a  fire-es 
cape  landing  across  the  narrow  court,  an  easy  jump 
— and  he  knew  that  Foley  had  had  no  thought  of 
death. 

As  Tom  jerked  Foley  from  the  window  sill  he 
tripped  over  a  chair  and  fell  backward  to  the  floor, 
the  walking  delegate's  body  upon  him,,  Foley  was  on 
his  feet  in  an  instant,  but  Tom  lay  where  he  was  with 
the  breath  knocked  out  of  him.  He  dimly  heard  the 
union  break  again  into  cries;  feet  trampled  him;  he 
felt  a  keen  shooting  pain.  Then  he  was  conscious 
that  some  force  was  turning  the  edge  of  the  mob  from 
its  path;  then  he  was  lifted  up  and  placed  at  the  win 
dow  out  of  which  he  had  just  dragged  Foley;  and 
then,  Petersen's  arm  supporting  him,  he  stood  weakly 
on  one  foot  holding  to  the  sill. 

For  an  instant  he  had  a  glimpse  of  Foley,  on  the 
platform,  his  back  to  the  wall.  During  the  minute 
Tom  had  been  on  the  floor  a  group  of  Foley's  roughs, 
moved  by  some  strange  reawakening  of  loyalty,  had 
rushed  to  his  aid,  but  they  had  gone  down ;  and  now 
Foley  stood  alone,  behind  a  table,  sneering  at  the 
crowd. 

"  Come  on!  "  he  shouted,  with  something  between 


THE   LAST   OF   BUCK   FOLEY    343 

a  snarl  and  a  laugh,  shaking  his  clenched  fist.  "  Come 
on,  one  at  a  time,  an'  I'll  do  up  every  one  o'  youse !  " 

The  next  instant  he  went  down,  and  at  the  spot 
where  he  sank  the  crowd  swayed  and  writhed  as  the 
vortex  of  a  whirlpool.  Tom,  sickened,  turned  his 
eyes  away. 

Turned  them  to  see  three  policemen  and  two  men 
in  plain  clothes  with  badges  on  their  lapels  enter  the 
hall,  stand  an  instant  taking  in  the  scene,  and  then 
with  drawn  clubs  plunge  forward  into  the  crowd. 
The  cry  of  "  Police!  "  swept  from  the  rear  to  the 
front  of  the  hall. 

"We're  after  Foley!"  shouted  the  foremost 
officer,  a  huge  fellow  with  a  huge  voice,  by  way  of 
explanation.  "  Get  out  o'  the  way!  " 

The  last  cry  he  repeated  at  every  step.  The  crowd 
pressed  to  either  side,  and  the  five  men  shouldered 
slowly  toward  the  vortex  of  the  whirlpool.  At  length 
they  gained  this  fiercely  swaying  tangle  of  men. 

"  If  youse  kill  that  man,  we'll  arrest  every  one  o' 
youse  for  murder!  "  boomed  the  voice  of  the  big 
policeman. 

The  vortex  became  suddenly  less  violent.  The  five 
officers  pulled  man  after  man  back,  and  reached 
Foley's  body.  He  was  lying  on  his  side,  almost 
against  the  wall,  eyes  closed,  mouth  slightly  gaping. 
He  did  not  move. 

"Too  late!"  said  the  big  policeman.  "He's 
dead!" 

His  words  ran  back  through  the  crowd  which  had 
so  lusted  for  this  very  event.  Stillness  fell  upon  it. 

The  big  policeman  stooped  and  gently  turned  the 


344    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

long  figure  over  and  placed  his  hand  above  the  heart. 
The  inner  circle  of  the  crowd  looked  on,  waiting. 
After  a  moment  the  policeman's  head  nodded. 

"  Beatin'  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  plain  clothes  men. 

"  Yes.    But  mighty  weak." 

"  I'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute,"  said  a  faint  voice. 

The  big  policeman  started  and  glanced  at  Foley's 
face.  The  eyes  were  open,  and  looking  at  him. 

"  I  s'pose  youse  're  from  Baxter?  "  the  faint  voice 
continued. 

"  From  the  District  Attorney." 

"  Yes."  A  whimsical  lightness  appeared  in  the 
voice.  "  I  been  waitin'  for  youse.  Lucky  youse  come 
when  youse  did.  A  few  minutes  later  an'  youse  might 
not  'a'  found  me  still  waitin'." 

He  placed  his  hands  beside  him  and  weakly  tried 
to  rise,  but  fell  back  with  a  little  groan.  The  big 
policeman  and  another  officer  helped  him  to  his  feet. 
The  big  policeman  tried  to  keep  an  arm  round  him  for 
support,  but  Foley  pushed  it  away  and  leaned  against 
the  wall,  where  he  stood  a  moment  gazing  down  on 
the  hundreds  of  faces.  His  shirt  was  ripped  open 
at  the  neck  and  down  to  the  waist;  one  sleeve  was 
almost  torn  off;  his  vest  was  open  and  hung  in  two 
halves  from  the  back  of  his  neck;  coat  he  had  not 
had  on.  His  face  was  beginning  to  swell,  his  lips 
were  bloody,  and  there  was  a  dripping  cut  on  his 
forehead. 

One  of  the  plain  clothes  men  drew  out  a  pair  of 
handcuffs. 

"  Youse  needn't  put  them  on  me,"  Foley  said. 
"  I'll  go  with  youse.  Anyhow " 


THE  LAST   OF   BUCK   FOLEY    345 

He  glanced  down  at  his  right  hand.  It  was 
swollen,  and  was  turning  purple. 

The  plain  clothes  man  hesitated. 

"  Oh,  he  can't  give  us  no  trouble,"  said  the  big 
policeman. 

The  handcuffs  were  pocketed. 

"  I'm  ready,"  said  Foley. 

It  was  arranged  that  two  of  the  uniformed  men 
were  to  lead  the  way  out,  the  big  policeman  was  to 
come  next  with  Foley,  and  the  two  plain  clothes  men 
were  to  be  the  rearguard. 

The  big  policeman  placed  an  arm  round  Foley's 
waist.  "  I  better  give  youse  a  lift,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  that  weak !  "  returned  Foley.  "  Come 
on."  He  started  off  steadily.  Certainly  he  had  re 
gained  strength  in  the  last  few  minutes. 

As  the  six  men  started  a  passage  opened  before 
them.  The  little  group  of  roughs  who  had  come  to 
Foley's  defense  a  few  minutes  before  now  fell  in 
behind. 

Half-way  to  the  door  Foley  stopped,  and  addressed 
the  crowd  at  large : 

"Where's  Keating?" 

"  Up  by  the  piano,"  came  the  answer. 

*  Take  me  to  him  for  a  minute,  won't  youse?  "  he 
asked  of  his  guard. 

They  consulted,  then  turned  back.  Again  a  pas 
sage  opened  and  they  marched  to  where  Tom  sat, 
very  pale,  leaning  against  the  piano.  The  crowd 
pressed  up,  eager  to  get  a  glimpse  of  these  two 
enemies,  now  face  to  face  for  the  last  time. 

"  Look  out,  Tom !  "  a  voice  warned,  as  Foley,  with 


346    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

the  policeman  at  his  side,  stepped  forth  from  his 
guard. 

"  Oh,  our  fight's  all  over,"  said  Foley.  He  paused 
and  gazed  steadily  down  at  Tom.  None  of  those 
looking  on  could  have  said  there  was  any  softness  in 
his  face,  yet  few  had  ever  before  seen  so  little  harsh 
ness  there. 

"  I  don't  know  of  a  man  that,  an  hour  ago,  I'd  V 
rather  put  out  o'  business  than  youse,  Keating,"  he  at 
length  said  quietly.  u  I  don't  love  youse  now.  But 
the  real  article  is  scarce,  an'  when  I  meet  it — well,  I 
like  to  shake  hands." 

He  held  out  his  left  hand.  Tom  looked  hesitantly 
up  into  the  face  of  the  man  who  had  brought  him  to 
fortune's  lowest  ebb — and  who  was  now  yet  lower 
himself.  Then  he  laid  his  left  hand  in  Foley's  left. 

Suddenly  Foley  leaned  over  and  whispered  in 
Tom's  ear.  Then  he  straightened  up.  "  Luck  with 
youse !  "  he  said  shortly  and  turned  to  his  guards. 
"  Come  on." 

Again  the  crowd  made  way.  Foley  marched 
through  the  passage,  his  head  erect,  meeting  every 
gaze  unshrinkingly.  The  greater  part  of  the  crowd 
looked  on  silently  at  the  passing  of  their  old  leader, 
now  torn  and  bruised  and  bleeding,  but  as  defiant  as 
in  his  best  days.  A  few  laughed  and  jeered  and 
flung  toward  him  contemptuous  words,  but  Foley 
heeded  them  not,  marching  steadily  on,  looking  into 
every  face. 

At  the  door  he  paused,  and  with  a  lean,  blood- 
trickled  smile  of  mockery,  and  of  an  indefinite  some 
thing  else — perhaps  regret? — gazed  back  for  a  mo- 


THE  LAST   OF   BUCK   FOLEY    347 

ment  on  the  men  he  had  led  for  seven  years.  Then 
he  called  out,  "  So-long,  boys!  "  and  waved  his  left 
hand  with  an  air  that  was  both  jaunty  and  sardonic. 

He  turned  about,  and  wiping  the  red  drops  from 
his  face  with  his  bare  left  hand,  passed  out  of  Poto 
mac  Hall.  Just  behind  him  and  his  guard  came  the 
little  group  of  roughs,  slipping  covert  glances  among 
themselves.  And  behind  them  the  rest  of  the  union 
fell  in ;  and  the  head  of  the  procession  led  down  the 
broad  stairway  and  forth  into  the  street. 

Then,  without  warning,  there  was  a  charge  of  the 
roughs.  The  five  officers  were  in  an  instant  over 
whelmed — tripped,  or  overpowered  and  hurled  to  the 
pavement — and  the  roughs  swept  on.  The  men  be 
hind  rushed  forward,  and  without  any  such  purpose 
entangled  the  policemen  among  their  numbers.  It 
was  a  minute  or  more  before  the  five  officers  were  free 
and  had  their  bearings,  and  could  begin  pursuit  and 
search. 

But  Buck  Foley  was  not  to  be  found. 


Chapter  XXXI 
TOM'S  LEVEE 

IT  was  seven   o'clock  the   next   morning. 
Tom  lay  propped  up  on  the  couch  in  his 
sitting-room,  his  foot  on  a  pillow,  waiting 
for  Maggie  to  come  back  with  the  morn 
ing  papers.    A  minute  before  he  had  asked  Ferdinand 
to  run  down  and  get  them  for  him,  but  Maggie,  who 
just  then  had  been  starting  out  for  a  loaf  of  bread, 
had  said  shortly  to  the  boy  that  she  would  get  them 
herself. 

When  Maggie  had  opened  the  door  the  night  be 
fore,  while  Petersen  was  clumsily  trying  to  fit  Tom's 
key  into  the  keyhole,  the  sight  of  Tom  standing 
against  the  wall  on  one  foot,  his  clothes  in  disorder, 
had  been  to  her  imagination  a  full  explanation  of 
what  had  happened.  Her  face  had  hardened  and 
she  had  flung  up  her  clenched  hands  in  fierce  helpless 
ness.  "Oh,  my  God !  So  you've  been  at  Foley  again !" 
she  had  burst  out.  "  More  trouble !  My  God,  my 
God !  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer !  "  She  would  have 
gone  on,  but  the  presence  of  a  third  person  had  sud 
denly  checked  her.  She  had  stood  unmoving  in  the 
doorway,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  breast  rising  and  fall 
ing.  For  an  instant  Tom,  remembering  a  former 
declaration,  had  expected  her  to  close  the  door  in  his 

348 


TOM'S  LEVEE  349 

face,  but  with  a  gesture  of  infinite,  rageful  despair 
she  had  stepped  back  from  the  door  without  a  word, 
and  Petersen  had  supported  him  to  the  couch.  Al 
most  immediately  a  doctor  had  appeared,  for  whom 
Tom  and  Petersen  had  left  a  message  on  their  way 
home;  and  by  the  time  the  doctor  and  Petersen  had 
gone,  leaving  Tom  in  bed,  her  fury  had  solidified  into 
that  obdurate,  resentful  silence  which  was  the  charac 
teristic  second  stage  of  her  wrath.  Her  injustice  had 
roused  Tom's  antagonism,  and  thus  far  not  a  word 
had  passed  between  them. 

The  nearest  newsstand  was  only  a  dozen  steps  from 
the  tenement's  door,  but  minute  after  minute  passed 
and  still  Maggie  did  not  return.  After  a  quarter 
hour's  waiting  Tom  heard  the  hall  door  open  and 
close,  and  then  Maggie  came  into  the  sitting-room. 
He  was  startled  at  the  change  fifteen  minutes  had 
made  in  her  expression.  The  look  of  set  hardness 
was  gone ;  the  face  was  white  and  drawn,  almost  star 
ing.  She  dropped  the  papers  on  a  chair  beside  the 
couch.  The  top  one,  crumpled,  explained  the  length 
of  her  absence  and  her  altered  look. 

Tom's  heart  began  to  beat  wildly;  she  knew  it 
then !  She  paused  beside  him,  and  with  his  eyes  down- 
turned  he  waited  for  her  to  speak.  Seconds  passed. 
He  could  see  her  hands  straining,  and  hear  her  deep 
breath  coming  and  going.  Suddenly  she  turned  about 
abruptly  and  went  into  the  kitchen. 

Tom  looked  wonderingly  after  her  a  moment;  then 
his  eyes  were  caught  by  a  black  line  half  across  the 
top  of  the  crumpled  paper:  "  Contractors  Trap 
Foley."  He  seized  the  paper  and  his  eyes  took  in 


350    THE   WALKING   DELEGATE 

the  rest  of  the  headline  at  a  glance.  "  Arrested,  But 
Makes  Spectacular  Escape  " ;  a  dozen  words  about 
the  contractors'  plan;  and  then  at  the  very  end,  in 
smallest  display  type:  "Also  Exposed  in  Union." 
He  quickly  glanced  through  the  headlines  of  the  other 
papers.  In  substance  they  were  the  same. 

Utterly  astounded,  he  raced  through  the  several 
accounts  of  Foley's  exposure.  They  were  practically 
alike.  They  told  of  Mr.  Baxter's  visit  to  the  District 
Attorney,  and  then  recited  the  events  of  the  past  three 
weeks  just  as  Mr.  Baxter  had  given  them  to  the 
official  prosecutor :  How  Foley  had  tried  to  hold  the 
Executive  Committee  up  for  fifty  thousand  dollars; 
how  the  committee  had  seen  in  his  demand  a  chance 
to  get  him  into  the  hands  of  the  law,  and  so  rid  labor 
and  capital  of  a  common  enemy;  how,  after  much 
deliberation,  they  had  decided  to  make  the  attempt; 
how  the  sham  negotiations  had  proceeded;  how  yes 
terday,  to  make  the  evidence  perfect,  Foley  had  been 
given  the  fifty  thousand  dollars  he  had  demanded 
as  the  price  of  settlement — altogether  a  most  com 
plete  and  plausible  story.  "  A  perfect  case,"  the  Dis 
trict  Attorney  had  called  it.  Tom's  part  in  the  affair 
was  told  in  a  couple  of  paragraphs  under  a  sub 
head. 

One  of  the  papers  had  managed  to  get  in  a  hurried 
editorial  on  Mr.  Baxter's  story.  "  Perhaps  their  way 
of  trapping  Foley  smacks  strongly  of  gum-shoe 
detective  methods,"  the  editorial  concluded;  "  but 
their  end,  the  exposure  of  a  notorious  labor  brigand, 
will  in  the  mind  of  the  public  entirely  justify  their 
means.  They  have  earned  the  right  to  be  called 


TOM'S  LEVEE  351 

public  benefactors."  Such  in  tone  was  the  whole  edi 
torial.  It  was  a  prophecy  of  the  editorial  praise  that 
was  to  be  heaped  upon  the  contractors  in  the  after 
noon  papers  and  those  of  the  next  morning. 

Tom  flung  the  papers  from  him  in  sickened,  be 
wildered  wrath.  He  had  expected  a  personal  tri 
umph  before  the  public.  He  felt  there  was  something 
wrong;  he  felt  Mr.  Baxter  had  robbed  him  of  his 
glory,  just  as  Foley  had  robbed  him  of  his  strike. 
But  in  the  first  dazedness  of  his  disappointment  he 
could  not  understand.  He  hardly  touched  the  break 
fast  Maggie  had  quietly  put  upon  the  chair  while  he 
had  been  reading,  but  sank  back  and,  his  eyes  on  the 
ceiling  with  its  circle  of  clustered  grapes,  began  to  go 
over  the  situation. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  he  was  interrupted  by 
Ferdinand,  whom  Maggie  had  sent  in  with  a  letter 
that  had  just  been  delivered  by  a  messenger.  Tom 
took  it  mechanically,  then  eagerly  tore  open  the 
envelope.  The  letter  was  from  the  detective  agency, 
and  its  greater  part  was  the  report  of  the  observations 
made  the  previous  evening  by  the  detectives  detailed 
to  watch  Mr.  Baxter.  Tom  read  it  through  repeat 
edly.  It  brought  Foley's  whispered  words  flashing 
back  upon  him :  "  I  give  it  to  youse  for  what  it's 
worth;  Baxter  started  this  trick."  He  began  slowly 
to  understand. 

But  before  he  had  fully  mastered  the  situation 
there  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  hall  door.  Maggie 
opened  it,  and  Tom  heard  a  hearty  voice  sound  out : 
"  Good-mornin',  Mrs.  Keating.  How's  your  hus 
band?" 


352    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  You'll  find  him  in  the  front  room,  Mrs.  Barry,'* 
Maggie  answered.  "  All  of  you  go  right  in." 

There  was  the  sound  of  several  feet,  and  then  Mrs. 
Barry  came  in  and  after  her  Barry  and  Pete.  "  Say, 
Tom,  I'm  just  tickled  to  death!  "  she  cried,  with  a 
smile  of  ruddy  delight.  She  held  out  a  stubby,  pil 
lowy  hand  and  shook  Tom's  till  her  black  straw  hat, 
that  the  two  preceding  summers  had  done  their  best 
to  turn  brown,  was  bobbing  over  one  ear.  "  Every 
rib  I've  got  is  laughin'.  How're  you  feelin'  ?  " 

"  First  rate,  except  for  my  ankle.  How're  you, 
boys?  "  He  shook  hands  with  Barry  and  Pete. 

"Well,  you  want  to  lay  still  as  a  bed-slat  for  a 
week  or  two.  A  sprain  ain't  nothin'  to  monkey  with, 
I  tell  you  what.  Mrs.  Keating,  you  see't  your 
husband  keeps  still." 

"  Yes,"  said  Maggie,  setting  chairs  for  the  three 
about  the  couch,  and  herself  slipping  into  one  at  the 
couch's  foot. 

Mrs.  Barry  sank  back,  breathing  heavily,  and 
wiped  her  moist  face.  "  I  said  to  the  men  this 
mornin'  that  I'd  give  'em  their  breakfast,  but  I 
wouldn't  wash  a  dish  till  I'd  been  over  to  see  you. 
Tom,  you've  come  out  on  top,  all  right!  An'  no 
body's  gladder  'n  me.  Unless,  o'  course,  your  wife." 

Maggie  gave  a  little  nod,  and  her  hands  clasped 
each  other  in  her  lap. 

"  It's  easy  to  guess  how  proud  you  must  be  o'  your 
man !  "  Mrs.  Barr/s  red  face  beamed  with  sympa 
thetic  exultation. 

Maggie  gulped;  her  strained  lips  parted:  "Of 
course  I'm  proud." 


TOM'S  LEVEE  353 

"  I  wish  you  could  'a'  heard  the  boys  last  night, 
Tom"  cried  Pete.    "Are  they  for  you?  Well,   1 
should  say!    You'll  be  made  walkin'  delegate  at 
very  next  meetin',  sure." 

"  Well  I'd  like  to  know  what  else  they  could  do  t 
Mrs.   Barry  demanded  indignantly.         'With  h.m 
havin'  fought  an'  sacrificed  as  he  has  for  em  1 

"  He  can  have  anything  he  wants  now.  Tokens  ot 
appreciation?  They'll  be  givin'  you  a  gold  watch  an 
chain  for  every  pocket." 

"  But  what  '11  they  think  after  they  ve  read  the 
papers?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  I  saw  how  the  bosses'  fairy  story  goes, 
boys  ain't  kids,  an'  they  ain't  goin'  to  swallow  all  that 
down      They'll  think  about  the  same  as  me,  an 
think  them  bosses  ain't  such  holy  guys  as  they  say 
they  are      I  think  there  was  somethin'  else  we  don  I 
know  nothin'  about,  or  else  the  bosses  'd  'a'  gone  right 
through  with  the  game.    An'  the  boys'll  not  give 
credit  to  a  boss  when  they  can  give  credit  to  a  urn 
man      You  can  bet  your  false  teeth  on  that.    Any 
how,  Tom,  you  could  fall  a  big  bunch  o1  miles  an 
still  be  in  heaven." 

"  Now,  the  strike,  Tom;  what  d'you  think  about 
the  strike?  "  Mrs.  Barry  asked. 

Before  Tom  could  answer  there  was  another  knock. 
Maggie  slipped  away  and  ushered  in  Petersen,  who 
hung  back  abashed  at  this  gathering. 
"Hello,  Petersen,"  Tom  called  out. 

How  are  you?"  .        , 

Petersen  advanced  into  the  room,  took  a  chair  an 
sat  holding  his  derby  hat  on  his  knees  with  both 


354    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

hands.  "  I  be  purty  good, — oh,  yah,"  he  answered, 
smiling  happily.  "  I  be  movin'  to-day." 

u  Where?  "  Tom  asked.  "  But  you  haven't  met 
Mrs.  Barry,  have  you?  " 

"  Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Petersen."  Mrs.  Barry 
held  out  her  hand,  and  Petersen,  without  getting  up, 
took  it  in  his  great  embarrassed  fist. 

She  turned  quickly  about  on  Tom.  "  What  d'you 
think  about  the  strike?"  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,  what  about  it?  "  echoed  Barry  and  Pete. 

"  We're  going  to  win  it,"  Tom  answered,  with 
quiet  confidence. 

"  You  think  so?" 

"  I  do.    We're  going  to  win — certain !  " 

"  If  you  do,  we  women  '11  all  take  turns  kissin'  your 
shoes." 

"  You'll  be,  all  in  a  jump,  the  biggest  labor  leader 
in  New  York  City!"  cried  Pete.  "  What,  to  put 
Buck  Foley  out  o'  business,  an'  to  win  a  strike  after 
the  union  had  give  it  up !  " 

Within  Tom  responded  to  this  by  a  wild  exultation, 
but  he  maintained  an  outward  calm.  "  Don't  lay  it 
on  so  thick,  Pete." 

He  stole  a  glance  at  Maggie.  She  was  very  pale. 
Her  eyes,  coming  up  from  her  lap,  met  his.  She  rose 
abruptly. 

"  I  must  see  to  my  work,"  she  said,  and  hurried 
into  the  kitchen. 

Tom's  eyes  came  back  to  his  friends.  "  Have  you 
boys  heard  anything  about  Foley?  " 

"  He  ain't  been  caught  yet,"  answered  Pete. 

"  He'll  never  be,"  Tom  declared.     Then  after  a 


TOM'S   LEVEE  355 

moment's  thought  he  went  on  with  conviction: 
"  Boys  if  Folcy  had  had  a  fair  start  and  had  been 
honest,  he'd  have  been  the  biggest  thing  that  eve. 
happened  in  the  labor  world." 

Their  loyalty  prompted  the  others  to  take  strong 

exception  to  this.  )( 

"  No    I  wouldn't  have  been  in  his  class, 
said  decidedly,  and  led  the  talk  to  the  probabilities  of 
the  next  few  days.     They  chatted  on  for  half  an  hour 
longer,  then  all  four  departed.  Pete,  however,  turned 
at  the  door  and  came  back. 

"  I  almost  forgot,  Tom.     There  was  something 
else.     O'  course  you  didn't  hear  about  Johnson.  ^    1  ou 
know  there's  been  someone  in  the  union— more'n  one, 
I  bet— that's  been  keepin'  the  bosses  posted  on  all 
we  do     Well,  Johnson  got  himself  outside  o'  more 
a  few  last  night,  an'  began  to  get  in  some  lively  jaw- 
work.     The  boys  got  on  from  what  he  said  that  he  d 
been  doin'  the  spy  business  for  a  long  time-that  he  c 
seen  Baxter  just  before  the  meetin'.    Well,  a  few 
things  happened  right  then  an'  there.     I  won  t  te 
you  what,  but  I  got  an  idea  Johnson  sorter  thinks 
this  ain't  just  the  health  resort  for  his  kind  o  disease. 

Tom  said  nothing.  Here  was  confirmation  of,  and 
addition  to,  one  sentence  in  the  detectives'  report. 
Pete  had  been  gone  hardly  more  than  a  minute 
when  he  was  back  for  the  third  time.  'Say,  Tom, 
guess  where  Petersen's  movin'?  "  he  called  out  from 
the  dining-room  door. 

"  I  never  can."  , 

"On   the   floor   above!    A  wagon   load   o 
furniture  just  pulled  up  down  in  front.     I  met  Peter- 


356    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

sen  an'  his  wife  comin'  in.  Petersen  was  carryin'  a 
bran'  new  baby  carriage." 

Pete's  news  had  immediate  corroboration.  As  he 
was  going  out  Tom  heard  a  thin  voice  ask,  "  Is  Mr. 
Keating  in?  "  and  heard  Maggie  answer,  "  Go  right 
through  the  next  door;  "  and  there  was  Mrs.  Peter- 
sen,  her  child  in  her  arms,  coming  radiantly  toward 
him. 

"  Bless  you,  brother!  "  she  said.  "  I've  heard  all 
about  your  glorious  victory.  I  could  hardly  wait  to 
come  over  an'  tell  you  how  glad  I  am.  I'd  'a'  come 
with  Nels,  but  I  wasn't  ready  an'  he  had  to  hurry 
here  to  be  ready  to  look  after  the  furniture  when  it 
come.  I'm  so  glad !  But  things  had  to  come  out  that 
way.  The  Lord  never  lets  sin  prevail ! — praise  His 
name !  " 

'  Won't  you  sit  down,  Mrs.  Petersen?  "  Tom  said, 
in  some  embarrassment,  relinquishing  the  slight  hand 
she  had  given  him. 

"  I  can't  stop  a  minute,  we're  so  busy.  You  must 
come  up  an'  see  us.  I  pray  God  '11  prosper  you  in 
your  new  work,  an'  make  you  a  power  for  right. 
Good-by." 

As  she  passed  through  the  dining-room  Tom  heard 
her  thin  vibrant  voice  sound  out  again :  "  You  ought 
to  be  the  proudest  an'  happiest  woman  in  America, 
Mrs.  Keating."  There  was  no  answer,  and  Tom 
heard  the  door  close. 

In  a  few  minutes  Maggie  came  in  and  stood  lean 
ing  against  the  back  of  one  of  the  chairs.  "  Tom," 
she  said;  and  her  voice  was  forced  and  unnatural. 

Tom  knew  that  the  scene  he  had  been  expecting  so 


TOM'S  LEVEE  357 

long  was  now  at  hand.  '  Yes,"  he  answered,  in  a 
kind  of  triumphant  dread. 

She  did  not  speak  at  once,  but  stood  looking  down 
on  him,  her  throat  pulsing,  her  face  puckered  in  its 
effort  to  be  immobile.  "  Well,  it  was  about  time 
something  of  this  sort  was  happening.  You  know 
what  I've  had  to  put  up  with  in  the  last  five  months. 
I  suppose  you  think  I  ought  to  beg  your  pardon. 
But  you  know  what  I  said,  I  said  because  I  thought  it 
was  to  our  interest  to  do  that.  And  you  know  if  we'd 
done  what  I  said  we'd  never  have  seen  the  hard  times 
we  have." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  Tom  admitted,  with  a  dull  sink 
ing  of  his  heart. 

She  stood  looking  down  on  him  for  a  moment 
longer,  then  turned  abruptly  about  and  went  into  the 
kitchen.  These  five  sentences  were  her  only  verbal 
acknowledgment  that  she  had  been  wrong,  and  her 
only  verbal  apology.  She  felt  much  more  than  this 
— grudgingly,  she  was  proud  that  he  had  succeeded, 
she  was  proud  that  others  praised  him,  she  was 
pleased  at  the  prospect  of  better  times — but  more 
than  this  she  could  not  bend  to  admit. 

While  Tom  lay  on  the  couch  reasoning  himself 
into  a  fuller  and  fuller  understanding  of  Mr.  Baxter's 
part  in  last  night's  events,  out  in  the  kitchen  Maggie's 
resentment  over  having  been  proved  wrong  was 
slowly  disappearing  under  the  genial  influence  of 
thoughts  of  the  better  days  ahead.  Her  mind  ran 
with  eagerness  over  the  many  things  that  could  be 
done  with  the  thirty-five  dollars  a  week  Tom  would 
get  as  walking  delegate — new  dresses,  better  than  she 


358    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

had  ever  had  before ;  new  things  for  the  house ;  a  bet 
ter  table.  And  she  thought  of  the  social  elevation 
Tom's  new  importance  in  the  union  would  give  her. 
She  forgot  her  bitterness.  She  became  satisfied;  then 
exultant;  then,  unconsciously,  she  began  humming. 

Presently  her  new  pride  had  an  unexpected  grati 
fication.  In  the  midst  oY  her  dreams  there  was  a 
rapping  at  the  hall  door.  Opening  it  she  found  before 
her  a  man  she  had  seen  only  once — Tom  had  pointed 
him  out  to  her  one  Sunday  when  they  had  walked  on 
Fifth  Avenue — but  she  recognized  him  immediately. 

"  Is  Mr.  Keating  at  home?  "  the  man  asked. 

41  Yes."  Maggie,  awed  and  embarrassed,  led  the 
way  into  the  sitting-room. 

u  Mr.  Keating,"  said  the  man,  in  a  quiet,  even 
voice. 

"  Mr.  Baxter!  "  Tom  ejaculated. 

"  I  saw  in  the  papers  this  morning  that  you  were 
hurt.  Thank  you  very  much,  Mrs.  Keating."  He 
closed  the  door  after  Maggie  had  withdrawn,  as 
though  paying  her  a  courtesy  by  the  act,  and  sat 
down  in  the  chair  she  had  pushed  beside  the  couch  for 
him.  "  Your  injury  is  not  serious,  I  hope." 

Tom  regarded  the  contractor  with  open  amaze 
ment.  "  No,"  he  managed  to  say.  "  It  will  keep  me 
in  the  house  for  a  while,  though." 

"  I  thought  so,  and  that's  why  I  came.  I  saw  from 
the  papers  that  you  would  doubtless  be  the  next 
leader  of  the  union.  As  you  know,  it  is  highly  impor 
tant  to  both  sides  that  we  come  to  an  agreement  about 
the  strike  as  early  as  possible.  It  seemed  to  me 
desirable  that  you  and  I  have  a  chat  first  and  arrange 


TOM'S   LEVEE  359 

for  a  meeting  of  our  respective  committees.  And 
since  I  knew  you  could  not  come  to  see  me,  I  have 
come  to  see  you." 

Mr.  Baxter  delivered  these  prepared  sentences 
smoothly,  showing  his  white  teeth  in  a  slight  smile. 
This  was  the  most  plausible  reason  his  brain  had  been 
able  to  lay  hold  of  to  explain  his  coming.  And  come 
he  must,  for  he  had  a  terrifying  dread  that  Tom  knew 
the  facts  he  was  trying  to  keep  from  the  public.  It 
had  taxed  his  ingenuity  frightfully  that  morning  to 
make  an  explanation  to  his  wife  that  would  clear  him 
self.  If  Tom  did  know,  and  were  to  speak — there 
would  be  public  disgrace,  and  no  explaining  to  his 
wife. 

Tom's  control  came  back  to  him,  and  he  was  filled 
with  a  sudden  exultant  sense  of  mastery  over  this 
keen,  powerful  man.  "  It  is  of  course  desirable  that 
we  settle  the  strike  as  soon  as  possible,"  he  agreed 
calmly,  not  revealing  that  he  recognized  Mr.  Bax 
ter's  explanation  to  be  a  fraud. 

u  It  certainly  will  be  a  relief  to  us  to  deal  with  a 
man  of  integrity.  I  think  we  have  both  had  not  very 
agreeable  experiences  with  one  whose  strong  point 
was  not  his  honor." 

"  Yes." 

There  was  that  in  Mr.  Baxter's  manner  which  was 
very  near  frank  cordiality.  u  Has  it  not  occurred  to 
you  as  somewhat  remarkable,  Mr.  Keating,  that  both 
of  us,  acting  independently,  have  been  working  to 
expose  Mr.  Foley?  " 

Tom  had  never  had  the  patience  necessary  to  beat 
long  about  the  bush.  He  was  master,  and  he  swept 


360    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

Mr.  Baxter's  method  aside.  "  The  sad  feature  of 
both  our  efforts,"  he  said  calmly,  but  with  fierce  joy, 
"  has  been  that  we  have  failed,  so  far,  to  expose  the 
chief  villain. " 

The  corners  of  Mr.  Baxter's  mouth  twitched  the 
least  trifle,  but  when  he  spoke  he  showed  the  proper 
surprise.  "  Have  we,  indeed !  Whom  do  you 
mean?  " 

Tom  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "  I  won 
der  if  you'd  care  to  know  what  I  think  of  you?  " 

"  That's  an  unusual  question.  But — it  might  be 
interesting." 

"  I  think  you  are  an  infernal  hypocrite ! — and  a 
villain  to  boot!  " 

"  What?  "  Mr.  Baxter  sprang  to  his  feet,  trying 
to  look  angry  and  amazed. 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Baxter,"  Tom  said  quietly. 
"  That  don't  work  with  me.  I'm  on  to  you.  We  got 
Foley,  but  you're  the  man  we've  failed  to  expose — 
so  far." 

Mr.  Baxter  resumed  his  chair,  and  for  an  instant 
looked  with  piercing  steadiness  at  Tom's  square 
face. 

"  What  do  you  know? — think  you  know?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you,  be  glad  to,  for  I  want  you  to  know 
I'm  thoroughly  on  to  you.  You  suggested  this  scheme 
to  Foley,  and  it  wasn't  a  scheme  to  catch  Foley,  but  to 
cheat  the  union."  And  Tom  went  on  to  outline  the 
parts  of  the  story  Mr.  Baxter  had  withheld  from  the 
newspapers. 

"  That  sounds  very  interesting,  Mr.  Keating,"  Mr. 
Baxter  said,  his  lips  trembling  back  from  his  teeth. 


TOM'S   LEVEE  361 

"  But  even  supposing  that  were  true,  it  isn't  evi 
dence." 

u  I  didn't  say  it  was — though  part  of  it  is.  But 
suppose  I  gave  to  the  papers  what  I've  said  to  you? 
Suppose  I  made  this  point:  if  Baxter  had  really  in 
tended  to  trap  Foley,  wouldn't  he  have  had  him 
arrested  the  minute  after  the  money  had  been  turned 
over,  so  that  he  would  have  stood  in  no  danger  of  los 
ing  the  money,  and  so  Foley  would  have  been  caught 
with  the  goods  on?  And  suppose  I  presented  these 
facts:  Mr.  Baxter  had  tickets  bought  for  '  The  Maid 
of  Mexico,'  and  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  for  the 
theater  with  his  wife  when  a  union  man,  his  spy,  who 
had  learned  of  my  plan  to  expose  the  scheme,  came 
to  his  house  and  told  him  I  was  on  to  the  game  and 
was  going  to  expose  it.  Mr.  Baxter  suddenly  decides 
not  to  go  to  the  theater,  and  rushes  off  to  the  Dis 
trict  Attorney  with  his  story  of  having  trapped  Foley. 
Suppose  I  said  these  things  to  the  papers — they'd  be 
glad  to  get  'em,  for  it's  as  good  a  story  as  the  one  this 
morning — what'd  people  be  saying  about  you  to-mor 
row  ?  They'd  say  this :  Up  to  the  time  he  heard  from 
his  spy  Baxter  had  no  idea  of  going  to  the  District 
Attorney.  He  was  in  the  game  for  all  it  was  worth, 
and  only  went  to  the  District  Attorney  when  he  saw 
it  was  his  only  chance  to  save  himself.  They'd  size 
you  up  for  what  you  are — a  briber  and  a  liar!  " 

A  faint  tinge  of  color  showed  in  Mr.  Baxter's 
white  cheeks.  "  I  see  you're  a  grafter,  too!  "  he  said, 
yielding  to  an  uncontrollable  desire  to  strike  back. 
"  Well — what's  your  price?  " 

Tom  sat  bolt  upright  and  glared  at  the  contractor. 


362    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

"  Damn  you!  "  he  burst  out.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  this 
ankle,  I'd  kick  you  out  of  the  room,  and  down  to  the 
street,  a  kick  to  every  step !  Now  you  get  out  of  here ! 
— and  quick !  " 

"  I'm  always  glad  to  leave  the  presence  of  a 
blackmailer,  my  dear  sir."  Mr.  Baxter  turned  with  a 
bow  and  went  out. 

Tom,  in  a  fury,  swung  his  feet  off  the  couch  and 
started  to  rise,  only  to  sink  back  with  a  groan. 

At  the  door  of  the  flat  Mr.  Baxter  thought  of  the 
morrow,  of  what  the  public  would  say,  of  what  his 
wife  would  say.  He  came  back,  closed  the  door,  and 
stood  looking  steadily  down  on  Tom.  "  Well — what 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

"  Give  it  to  the  papers,  that's  what!  " 

"  Suppose  you  do,  and  suppose  a  few  persons  be 
lieve  it.  Suppose,  even,  people  say  what  you  think 
they  will.  What  then?  You  will  have  given  your — 
ah — your  information  away,  and  how  much  better 
off  are  you  for  it?  " 

"  Blackmailer,  did  you  call  me!  " 

Mr.  Baxter  did  not  heed  the  exclamation,  but  con 
tinued  to  look  steadily  downward,  waiting. 

A  little  while  before  Tom  had  been  thinking 
vaguely  of  the  possible  use  he  could  make  of  his 
power  over  Mr.  Baxter.  With  lowered  gaze,  he 
now  thought  clearly,  rapidly.  The  moral  element  of 
the  situation  did  not  appeal  to  him  as  strongly  at  that 
moment  as  did  the  practical.  If  he  exposed  Mr.  Bax 
ter  it  would  bring  himself  great  credit  and  promi 
nence,  but  what  material  benefit  would  that  exposure 
bring  the  union  ?  Very  little.  Would  it  be  right  then 


TOM'S  LEVEE  363 

for  him,  the  actual  head  of  the  union,  to  use  an  advan 
tage  for  his  self-glorification  that  could  be  turned  to 
the  profit  of  the  whole  union? 

After  a  minute  Tom  looked  up.  "  No,  I  shall  not 
give  this  to  the  newspapers.  I'm  going  to  use  it 
otherwise — as  a  lever  to  get  from  you  bosses  what 
belongs  to  us.  I  hate  to  dirty  my  hands  by  using  such 
means;  but  in  fighting  men  of  your  sort  weVe  got  to 
take  every  advantage  we  get.  If  I  had  a  thief  by  the 
throat  I'd  hardly  let  go  so  we  could  fight  fair.  I 
wouldn't  be  doing  the  square  thing  by  the  union  if  I 
refused  to  use  an  advantage  of  this  sort." 

He  paused  an  instant  and  looked  squarely  into  Mr. 
Baxter's  eyes.  "  Yes,  I  have  a  price,  and  here  it  is. 
We're  going  to  win  this  strike.  You  understand?  " 

"  I  think  I  do." 

"Well?" 

*  You  are  very  modest  in  your  demands," — sar 
castically.  Tom  did  not  heed  the  remark. 

Mr.  Baxter  half  closed  his  eyes  and  thought  a 
moment.  '*  What  guarantee  have  I  of  your  silence  ?  " 

"  My  word." 

"  Nothing  else?" 

"  Nothing  else." 

Mr.  Baxter  was  again  silent  for  a  thoughtful 
moment. 

"Well?  "Tom  demanded. 

Mr.  Baxter's  face  gave  a  faint  suggestion  that  a 
struggle  was  going  on  within.  Then  his  little  smile 
came  out,  and  he  said: 

"  Permit  me  to  be  the  first  to  congratulate  you,  Mr. 
Keating,  on  having  won  the  strike." 


Chapter   XXXII 
THE   THORN   OF   THE   ROSE 

'HORTLY  after  lunch  Mr.  Driscoll  called 
Ruth  into  his  office.  "  Dr.  Hall  has  just 
sent  me  word  that  he  wants  to  meet  the 
building  committee  on  important  business 
this  afternoon,  so  if  you'll  get  ready  we'll  start  right 
off." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  two  were  on  a  north-bound 
Broadway  car.  Presently  Mr.  Driscoll  blinked  his 
bulging  eyes  thoughtfully  at  his  watch.  "  I  want  to 
run  in  and  see  Keating  a  minute  sometime  this  after 
noon,"  he  remarked.  "  He's  just  been  doing  some 
great  work,  Miss  Arnold.  If  we  hurry  we've  got 
time  to  crowd  it  in  now."  A  pudgy  forefinger  went 
up  into  the  air.  "  Oh,  conductor — let  us  off  here !  " 

Before  Ruth  had  recovered  the  power  to  object 
they  were  out  of  the  car  and  walking  westward 
through  a  narrow  cross  street.  Her  first  frantic  im 
pulse  was  to  make  some  hurried  excuse  and  turn 
back.  She  could  not  face  him  again! — and  in  his 
own  home! — never!  But  a  sudden  fear  restrained 
this  impulse :  to  follow  it  might  reveal  to  Mr.  Driscoll 
the  real  state  of  affairs,  or  at  least  rouse  his  suspicions. 
She  had  to  go;  there  was  nothing  else  she  could  do. 
And  so  she  walked  on  beside  her  employer,  all  her 
soul  pulsing  and  throbbing. 

364 


THORN  OF  THE   ROSE         365 

Soon  a  change  began  to  work  within  her — the 
rcassertion  of  her  love.  She  would  have  avoided  the 
meeting  if  she  could,  but  now  fate  was  forcing  her 
into  it.  She  abandoned  herself  to  fate's  irresistible 
arrangement.  A  wild,  excruciating  joy  began  to  pos 
sess  her.  She  was  going  to  see  him  again ! 

But  in  the  last  minute  there  came  a  choking  revul 
sion  of  feeling.  She  could  not  go  up — she  could  not 
face  him.  Her  mind,  as  though  it  had  been  working 
all  the  time  beneath  her  consciousness,  presented  her 
instantly  with  a  natural  plan  of  avoiding  the  meeting. 
She  paused  at  the  stoop  of  Tom's  tenement.  "  I'll 
wait  here  till  you  come  down,  or  walk  about  the 
block,"  she  said. 

44  All  right;  I'll  be  gone  only  a  few  minutes,"  re 
turned  the  unobservant  Mr.  Driscoll.  He  mounted 
the  stoop,  but  drew  aside  at  the  door  to  let  a  woman 
with  a  boy  come  out,  then  entered.  Ruth's  glance 
rested  upon  the  woman  and  child,  and  she  instinc 
tively  guessed  who  they  were,  and  her  conjecture  was 
instantly  made  certain  knowledge  by  a  voice  from  a 
window  addressing  the  woman  as  Mrs.  Keating. 
She  gripped  the  iron  hand-rail  and,  swaying,  stared 
at  Maggie  as  she  stood  chatting  on  the  top  step.  Her 
fixed  eyes  photographed  the  cheap  beauty  of  Mag 
gie's  face,  and  her  supreme  insight,  the  gift  of  the 
moment,  took  the  likeness  of  Maggie's  soul.  She 
gazed  at  Maggie  with  tense,  white  face,  lips  parted, 
hardly  breathing,  all  wildness  within,  till  Maggie 
started  to  turn  from  her  neighbor.  Then  she  her 
self  turned  about  and  walked  dizzily  away. 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  Driscoll  had  gained  Tom's 


366    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

flat  and  was  knocking  on  the  door.  When  Maggie 
had  gone  out — the  silent  accusation  of  Tom's  presence 
irked  her  so,  she  was  glad  to  escape  it  for  an  hour 
or  two — she  had  left  the  door  unlocked  that  Tom 
might  have  no  trouble  in  admitting  possible  callers. 
Mr.  Driscoll  entered  in  response  to  Tom's  "  Come 
in,"  and  crossed  heavily  into  the  sitting-room. 
"  Hello  there !  How  are  you  ?  "  he  called  out,  taking 
Tom's  hand  in  a  hearty  grasp. 

uWhy,  Mr.  Driscoll!"  Tom  exclaimed,  with  a 
smile  of  pleasure. 

Mr.  Driscoll  sank  with  a  gasp  into  a  chair  beside 
the  couch.  "  Well,  I  suppose  you  think  you're  about 
everybody,"  he  said  with  a  genial  glare.  "  Of  course 
you  think  I  ought  to  congratulate  you.  Well,  I 
might  as  well,  since  that's  one  thing  I  came  here  for. 
I  do  congratulate  you,  and  I  mean  it." 

He  again  grasped  Tom's  hand.  "  I've  been  think 
ing  of  the  time,  about  five  months  ago,  when  you 
stood  in  my  office  and  called  me  a  coward  and  a  few 
other  nice  things,  and  said  you  were  going  to  put 
Foley  out  of  business.  I  didn't  think  you  could 
do  it.  But  you  have!  You've  done  a  mighty  big 
thing." 

He  checked  himself,  but  his  discretion  was  not 
strong  enough  to  force  him  to  complete  silence,  nor 
to  keep  a  faint  suggestion  of  mystery  out  of  his  man 
ner.  "  And  you  deserve  a  lot  more  credit  than  you're 
getting.  You've  done  a  lot  more  than  people  think 
you  have — than  you  yourself  think  you  have.  If 
you  knew  what  I  know !" 

He    nodded    his    head,    with    one    eye    closed. 


THORN   OF  THE   ROSE         367 

"  There's  some  people  I'd  back  any  day  to  beat  the 
devil.  Well,  well !  And  so  you're  to  be  walking  del 
egate,  hey?  That's  what  I  hear." 

"  I  understand  the  boys  are  talking  about  electing 


me." 


"  Well,  if  you  come  around  trying  to  graft  off  me, 
or  calling  strikes  on  my  jobs,  there'll  be  trouble — I 
tell  you  that." 

"  I'll  make  you  an  exception.  I'll  not  graft  off  you, 
and  I'll  let  you  work  scabs  and  work  'em  twenty-four 
hours  a  day,  if  you  want  to." 

"  I  know  how!  "  Mr.  Driscoll  mopped  his  face 
again.  "  I  came  around  here,  Keating,  to  say  about 
three  things  to  you.  I  wanted  to  congratulate  you, 
and  that  I've  done.  And  I  wanted  to  tell  you  the 
latest  in  the  Avon  affair.  I  heard  just  before  I  left 
the  office  that  those  thugs  of  Foley's,  hearing  that 
he'd  skipped  and  left  'em  in  the  lurch,  had  confessed 
that  you  didn't  have  a  thing  to  do  with  the  Avon  ex 
plosion — that  Foley'd  put  them  up  to  it,  and  so  on. 
u  It  '11  be  in  the  papers  this  afternoon.  Even  if  your 
case  comes  to  trial,  you'll  be  discharged  in  a  minute. 
The  other  thing " 

"  Mr.  Driscoll "  Tom  began  gratefully. 

Mr.  Driscoll  saw  what  was  coming,  and  rushed 
on  at  full  speed.  "The  other  thing  is  this:  I'm 
speaking  serious  now,  and  just  as  your  father  might, 
and  it's  for  your  own  good,  and  nothing  else.  What 
I've  got  to  say  is,  get  out  of  the  union.  You're  too 
good  for  it.  A  man's  got  to  do  the  best  he  can  for 
himself  in  this  world;  it's  his  duty  to  make  a  place 
for  himself.  And  what  are  you  doing  for  yourself 


368    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

in  the  union?  Nothing.  They've  turned  you  down, 
and  turned  you  down  hard,  in  the  last  few  months. 
It's  all  hip-hip-hurrah  for  you  to-day,  but  they'll  turn 
you  down  again  just  as  soon  as  they  get  a  chance. 
Mark  what  I  say!  Now  here's  the  thing  for  you  to 
do.  You  can  get  out  of  the  union  now  with  glory. 
Get  out,  and  take  the  job  I  offered  you  five  months 
ago.  Or  a  better  one,  if  you  want  it." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Dris- 
coll,"  said  Tom.  "  But  that's  all  been  settled  before, 
I  can't." 

"  Now  you  see  here!  " — and  Mr.  Driscoll  leaned 
forward  and  with  the  help  of  a  gesticulating  fist 
launched  into  an  emphatic  presentation  of  "  an  old 
man's  advice  "  on  the  subject  of  looking  out  for 
number  one. 

While  he  had  been  talking  Ruth  had  walked  about 
the  block  in  dazing  pain,  and  now  she  had  been 
brought  back  to  the  tenement  door  by  the  combined 
strength  of  love  and  duty.  During  the  last  two  weeks 
she  had  often  wished  that  she  might  speak  a  moment 
with  Tom,  to  efface  the  impression  she  had  given 
him  on  that  tragic  evening  when  they  had  been  last 
together,  that  knowing  him  could  mean  to  her  only 
great  pain.  That  she  should  tell  him  otherwise,  that 
she  should  yield  him  the  forgiveness  she  had  withheld, 
had  assumed  to  her  the  seriousness  of  a  great  debt  she 
must  discharge.  The  present  was  her  best  chance — 
perhaps  she  could  see  him  for  a  moment  alone.  And 
so,  duty  justifying  love,  she  entered  the  tenement  and 
mounted  the  stairs. 

Tom's  u  Come  in !  "  answered  her  knock.    Clutch- 


THORN    OF   THE    ROSE        369 

ing  her  self-control  in  both  her  hands,  she  entered. 
At  sight  of  her  Tom  rose  upon  his  elbow,  then 
sank  back,  as  pale  as  she,  his  fingers  turned  into  his 
palms. 

44  Mr.  Keating,"  she  said,  with  the  slightest  of 
bows,  and  lowered  herself  into  a  chair  by  the  door. 

He  could  merely  incline  his  head. 

44  You  got  tired  waiting,  did  you,"  said  Mr.  Dris- 
coll,  who  had  turned  his  short-sighted  eyes  about  at 
her  entrance.  "  I'll  be  through  in  just  a  minute." 
He  looked  back  at  Tom,  and  could  but  notice  the 
latter's  white,  set  face.  "  Why,  what's  the  matter?  " 

44  I  twisted  my  ankle  a  bit;  it's  nothing,"  Tom 
answered. 

Mr.  Driscoll  went  on  with  his  discourse,  to  ears 
that  now  heard  not  a  word.  Ruth  glanced  about  the 
room.  The  high-colored  sentimental  pictures,  the 
cheap  showy  furniture,  the  ornaments  on  the  mantel 
piece — all  that  she  saw  corroborated  the  revelation 
she  had  had  of  Maggie's  character.  Inspiration  in 
neither  wife  nor  home.  Thus  he  had  to  live,  who 
needed  inspiration — whom  inspiration  and  sympathy 
would  help  develop  to  a  fitness  for  great  ends.  Thus 
lie  had  to  live ! — dwarfed ! 

She  filled  with  frantic  rebellion  in  his  behalf. 
Surely  it  did  not  have  to  be  so,  always.  Surely  the 
home  could  be  changed,  the  wife  roused  to  sympathy 
— a  little — at  least  a  little !  .  .  .  There  must  be 
a  way!  Yes,  yes;  surely.  There  must  be  a  way! 
.  .  .  Later,  somehow,  she  would  find  it.  .  .  . 

In  this  moment  of  upheaving  ideas  and  emotions 
she  had  the  first  vague  stirring  of  a  new  purpose — 


370    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

the  very  earliest  conception  of  the  part  she  was  to 
play  in  the  future,  the  part  of  an  unseen  and  un 
recognized  influence.  She  was  brought  out  of  her 
chaotic  thoughts  by  Mr.  Driscoll  rising  from  his  chair 
and  saying:  "There's  no  turning  a  fool  from  his 
folly,  I  suppose.  Well,  we'd  better  be  going,  Miss 
Arnold." 

She  rose,  too.  Her  eyes  and  Tom's  met.  He 
wondered,  choking,  if  she  would  speak  to  him. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Keating,"  she  said — and  that  was 
all. 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Arnold." 

With  a  great  sinking,  as  though  all  were  going 
from  beneath  him,  he  watched  her  go  out  .  .  . 
heard  the  outer  door  close  .  .  .  and  lay  exhausted, 
gazing  wide-eyed  at  the  door  frame  in  which  he  had 
last  seen  her. 

A  minute  passed  so,  and  then  his  eyes,  falling,  saw 
a  pair  of  gray  silk  gloves  on  the  table  just  before 
him.  They  were  hers.  He  had  risen  upon  his  elbow 
with  the  purpose  of  getting  to  the  table,  by  help  of  a 
chair  back,  and  securing  them,  when  he  heard  the 
hall  door  open  gently  and  close.  He  sank  back  upon 
the  couch. 

The  next  minute  he  saw  her  in  the  doorway  again, 
pale  and  with  a  composure  that  was  the  balance  be 
tween  paroxysm  and  supreme  repression.  She  paused 
there,  one  hand  against  the  frame,  and  then  walked 
up  to  the  little  table.  "  I  came  back  for  my  gloves," 
she  said,  picking  them  up. 

1  Yes,"  his  lips  whispered,  his  eyes  fastened  on 
her  white  face. 


THORN    OF   THE    ROSE        371 

But  she  did  not  go.  She  stood  looking  down  upon 
him,  one  hand  resting  on  the  table,  the  other  on  a 
chair  back.  "  1  left  my  gloves  on  purpose;  there  is 
something  I  want  to  say  to  you,"  she  said,  with  her 
tense  calm.  "  You  remember — when  I  saw  you  last — 
I  practically  said  that  knowing  you  could  in  the  future 
mean  nothing  to  me  but  pain.  I  do  not  feel  so  now. 
Knowing  you  has  given  me  inspiration.  There  is 
nothing  for  me  to  forgive — but  if  it  means  anything 
to  you  ...  I  forgive  you." 

Tom  could  only  hold  his  eyes  on  her  pale  face. 

"  And  I  want  to  congratulate  you,"  she  went  on. 
"  I  know  how  another  is  getting  the  praise  that 
belongs  to  you.  I  know  how  much  more  you  deserve 
than  is  being  given  you." 

"  Chance  helped  me  much — at  the  end." 

st  It  is  the  man  who  is  always  striving  that  is  ready 
for  the  chance  when  it  comes,"  she  returned. 

Tom,  lying  back,  gazing  fixedly  up  into  her  dark 
eyes,  could  not  gather  hold  of  a  word.  The  gilded 
clock  counted  off  several  seconds. 

"  Mr.  Driscoll  is  waiting  for  me,"  she  said,  in  a 
voice  that  was  weaker  and  less  forcedly  steady.  She 
had  not  changed  her  position  all  the  time  she  had 
spoken.  Her  arms  now  dropped  to  her  side,  and  she 
moved  back  ever  so  little. 

"  I  hope  .  .  .  you'll  be  happy  .  .  .  always," 
she  said. 

*  Yes    .    .    .    and  I  hope  you    .    .    ." 

"  Good-by." 

"  Good-by." 

Their  eyes  held  steadfastly  to  each  other  for  a 


372    THE    WALKING    DELEGATE 

moment;  she  seemed  to  waver,  and  she  caught  the 
back  of  a  chair;  then  she  turned  and  went  out.  .  .  . 
For  long  he  watched  the  door  out  of  which  she 
had  gone;  then,  heedless  of  the  pain,  he  rolled  over 
and  stared  at  one  great  poppy  in  the  back  of  the 
couch. 


THE  END 


URN     CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 

202  Main  Library 


LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

-orUh  ,!:1fj  Q42-3405 

1-year  loans  may  bi  . .  ,-5i;.g  the  books  to  the  Circulation  Desk 

tenewals  and  recharyaa  may  i>e  made  4  days  prior  to  due  date 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  RFinw 

te^n 

Jllf^Tiit  at   1flnr 

^  '  1  9  JyjJo 

1                   :  -   ;.  i     \ 

'  •  .  — 

CIRUULAfiON  DEP 

, 



1  •  

~~B 

] 

_                                          UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
FORM  NO.  DD6,  60m,  1/83           BERKELEY  CA  94720 

®s 

L/  n^~5S?;?'«??                               UnivSft^of  California 
(C7097slO)476B                                              Berkeley 

>B  39799 

GENERAL  LIBRARY    U.C.  BERKELEY 


B00073713B 


